


The Sardonyx Key

by TristansGirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Liam, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis had never imagined that his family would hold this kind of secret. What begins as a dreaded weekend with them ends with a hidden room, a secret door and the discovery that the man that lies beyond that door could change his life forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, there was this lovely website called Palace of the Keys. A key is a slave, held in a locked room, that can only be accessed by a certain key. Some great fic came out of that. I've written key fic before and find it fascinating to this day. 
> 
> This will not be a pretty fic. This is not a "Liam is happy to be Louis's slave" fic. This will be angsty and it might hurt. Liam will hurt. Louis will hurt. I warned for rape because of the nature of the story and its themes of sexual slavery. It will however have a happy ending.
> 
> And lastly, please pardon my Britishisms. I think I did alright but will certainly bone up on them for future chapters.

Louis Tomlinson is not overly fond of his family. He finds his father egotistical and cold, his mother a shrill drunkard, his younger sister vapid and boring and his older brother a complete arsehole. 

In fact, saying that he’s not overly fond of them is being kind. He left home as soon as he turned eighteen, got his own flat and proceeded to studiously ignore his family while living quite comfortably off of his trust fund. 

It’s been months since he’s last seen them and if it were up to him it would be longer, yet they keep insisting on gathering for holidays and birthdays. Louis attends these events because he is forced to, or at least that’s how it feels when he is threatened with either attending or being left out of the will. 

That threat is what has him in his car today, driving through the gates of their summer home outside of London. His twenty-first birthday had been a month ago, and after a three-day bender with friends, he had grudgingly spent an hour or two with his family opening gifts and “celebrating.”

And yet here he was, being beckoned toward his family yet again and with absolutely no explanation save for the ever-present threat of being disinherited. 

He rings his father’s mobile as he maneuvers his way along the circular driveway, letting him know that he’s arrived. He parks his car in front of the main doorways then he takes his hastily packed bags and stumbles out of the car. He was told they’d be here for the week. He’s hoping he can get out in a day.

His family is gathered at the front entrance by the time he makes his way to it and there is someone to take his bags and the keys to the car to park it properly. 

“So glad you could make it on short notice, Louis,” his father says, extending his hand. 

Louis shakes it. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” 

“Louis, it is far too early for this,” his mother drawls while his sister rolls her eyes and his brother scowls. 

“My apologies, mother. We’ll save that for later when we’re all a bit smashed. We get on better that way, don’t we?”

“Louis!” his father hisses.

After years of this, Louis knows when it’s safe to continue and when to let it go. He lets it go. He hugs his sister, kisses his mother on the cheek and manages a brief, firm handshake with his brother. 

The rest of the night is spent settling in and then suffering through a tense, nearly silent dinner. They all find the best way to muddle through it is with plenty of alcohol. Louis has always been a bit jealous of other families. He likes to believe that most families enjoy spending time together. But the Tomlinson way has always been to get good and pissed, clench your teeth and endure. 

He tips his nearly empty glass toward one of his father’s slaves and watches at the young man fills it expertly with brandy. 

His mother stands, holding her own brandy snifter close. “Well, Louis, your sister and I will be excusing ourselves so that you men may talk.”

“Why do I have to go?” his sister, Violet asks. She’s just turned 17 and argues on principle. She doesn’t want to be there any more than Louis does. 

His mother is not having it. She pulls Violet up by the arm and escorts her out despite her continued protests. 

Louis watches them go and turns to his father, raising an eyebrow. “Well, that’s new.”

“Louis, there’s something important that we need to discuss with you. When your sister is of age, I’ll be having this same conversation with her.”

“Are we going to talk about my career choices again?” Louis asks, wary. 

Louis knows that he disappoints his father. His brother, Roger, only two years older has already gone into business with the old man, helping him to run the several companies that he owns. Louis meanwhile has tried his hand at being a dj, a singer and a model. He has tried going to university and has tried merely living off of his trust fund and making headlines for partying. Nothing ever sticks. His father hates it and Louis not so secretly likes that his father hates it. 

He prepares himself for another lecture about not living up to his potential but it seems his father has something else in mind. 

“Your brother and I had this same talk when he turned twenty-one.”

Roger takes a swig of his brandy. “I tried to tell him you weren’t worthy of something like this but he doesn’t care to listen.”

“Something like what?” Louis asks. He takes a quick look around, noticing that even the slaves have gone. They are now utterly alone. 

His father is the one who speaks. “Do you know what a key is, Louis?”

Louis gives a confused smile, answering slowly. “It opens a door?”

“Yes, but the word also relates to a slave.”

“A slave,” Louis says. “I don’t think I understand.”

“A key is the name for a special slave. One who is kept hidden, their beauty and their charms only available to those with the proper access. To those with the key.”

And with a movement as smooth as any magician’s he pulls a key from his jacket pocket. It’s black and ornate and looks heavy, more a weapon than a key. There is a large stone set into the metal at the top, a gem that Louis isn’t familiar with. Its colors are striated caramels and whites. He rather likes it.

“The sardonyx key,” his father intones.

Louis pries his gaze away from the key and looks first at this brother then his father. “This is joke, yeah? You’re taking the piss?”

His father stands, hand curling around the key. “Come with us, Louis.”

Louis does, following his father and brother through the house and up the stairs to the third floor. He follows in a daze, still not completely sure if this is all some elaborate prank. Except that his father doesn’t joke. He doesn’t have it in him.

They walk into an unused room, one that has never seen a guest in it as long as Louis has stayed here. It is always locked and his father has never allowed him inside. His father unlocks it, not with the sardonyx key but with another, then they all step inside. And as Louis watches in fascination, Roger reaches behind a wardrobe, appears to jiggle something, and a moment later the wardrobe pulls to the side, revealing a hidden passageway in the wall. 

“Hidden passages? Really? You’ve got to be bloody well kidding me!” Louis shouts. All the times he’s stayed at this house, all the times they’ve summered here and he’s never had a clue.

“If you would shut your sodding mouth for once you might learn something,” Roger snarls, stepping past him and inside. 

His father gives him a stern glance. “He’s right, Louis. Listen and learn.”

Louis follows them inside and all three walk down a short, well-lit corridor. There are doors on either side, but Louis is fairly sure that no one’s used them in years, decades even. 

They come to a stop at the end of the corridor, in front of a large door. 

“Do I even want to know what’s on the other side?” Louis asks. He finds that he’s nervous and the sweet buzz that he’d had from the wine and brandy has all but disappeared. Special slaves that are kept hidden away . . . hidden passages and corridors . . . It’s all a bit too much, even for him. 

His father holds the key in his hand, displaying it. “Many years ago keys were owned by all the wealthiest families. They were a status symbol that few could afford but all envied. Since then, owning a key has fallen out of favor and the practice has all but vanished. But there are still some families that partake. It is . . . a very special luxury. 

This key is named for him, it is his birthstone. The key is very special. Both this key and the one inside.”

His father places the key into the lock and turns it smoothly. The door opens and his father steps inside. After a shove from his brother, Louis does the same. 

The room is large and well furnished in blues and earth tones. In the center is a large, opulent four-poster bed. To one side, there is a sitting area with a treadmill, a weight station, television set, stereo system and a gaming console.

Louis takes another step in, his mind trying to make sense of what his eyes show him. To the other side of the room, there is a medical examination table. And next to it, hanging on the wall, are toys. Implements. Louis turns from it, feeling ill. He really wishes he could leave now. He wishes he could just turn right back around and leave. 

Instead he follows his father and brother to the center of the room, to the massive bed. He sees the manacles first, manacles that hang loose and empty at the four corners of the bed. 

Then he sees the figure in the bed. A man. Young. Possibly younger than him. 

The man lies in the middle of the bed, covered by a single white, silken sheet. The sheet only goes to his waist and the man’s chest is bare. He’s sleeping, breath coming slow and easy. He looks fit and his face, what Louis can see of it, is pretty in a masculine way. He has a strong jaw and full lips and the kind of stubble that, in normal circumstances, would be considered sexy. His brown hair is mussed from sleep and his eyelashes fall dark against his cheek. 

His father makes himself comfortable on the bed and gently grasps the man’s chin. “Louis . . .”

“No,” Louis whispers, shaking his head. 

The man, or boy, it’s so hard to tell his age, opens his eyes. They are a warm honey-brown and they are foggy with sleep. 

But not for long. He becomes alert quickly, opening his eyes wider and turning them toward his father. “Master Richard.” His gaze flicks over to Louis’ brother, just for a moment. “Master Roger. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Then he turns his gaze to Louis. Louis sees curiosity there. Curiosity and something else, something like apprehension or wariness. 

His father caresses the side of the man’s face. When he speaks there is pride in his voice. “Louis, this is the key. This is your birthright. This is Liam.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis had never imagined that his family would hold this kind of secret. What begins as a dreaded weekend with them ends with a hidden room, a secret door and the discovery that the man that lies beyond that door could change his life forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend that everyone's pretty much bisexual in this universe, ok? :)
> 
> This will not be a pretty fic. This is not a "Liam is happy to be Louis's slave" fic. This will be angsty and it might hurt. Liam will hurt. Louis will hurt. I warned for rape because of the nature of the story and its themes of sexual slavery. It will however have a happy ending.

Louis can only stare. He is tempted to laugh, not because this is funny but because it seems the appropriate response to this madness. He tamps down on the impulse just in time. 

“The key is yours tonight,” his father says, placing the key itself in Louis’ hand. Louis grasps it. It’s heavy and cold, as if nothing could ever warm it. 

“He who holds the key holds _this_ key,” his father says, gesturing to Liam. “Do you understand? As long as you hold the key he is yours to control.”

“Dad . . .” He croaks out the word but he’s got nothing to follow that with. How does one thank their father for the use of a sex slave?

He’s not an idiot nor is he naïve. He knows that many slaves are used for more than just domestic duties. He doesn’t necessarily have a problem with the practice, it’s more that he gets plenty of sex all on his own without having to resort to it. As for his father, he’s never seen him indulge but then again he prefers to turn a blind eye to anything relating to his father and sex. 

Except that now, he supposes, he can no longer do that. 

“Your brother and I will leave you alone now,” his father says. “You can come find us downstairs after.”

“After what? What am I supposed to do?” he asks, even though he’s fairly sure he knows. In this instance however, playing dumb feels like his best option.

“Talk to him, touch him, experiment. Anything you wish, Louis,” his father says, as if it’s all so obvious. 

“Or you know . . . fuck him, you bloody idiot,” Roger says. 

“Roger, that’s enough,” his father says, just before bending toward the boy in the bed. “Liam, be good for my son.” And then his father kisses this boy tenderly; as if they were lovers and this were all ok and consensual. Louis feels compelled to look away.

“Of course, sir,” Liam replies dutifully.

His father and brother take their leave, leaving Louis alone with Liam. Liam is sat up in bed leaning back on one arm. The sheet is now pooled around his waist and Louis can see all of his bare chest and down to the line of his hip. 

Touch, his father has said. Experiment . . . 

He looks at the medical table with its cold steel and its stirrups then at the instruments that hang beside it. He looks away quickly, once again feeling queasy. Whatever’s going to happen here tonight, it’s not going to involve that. 

“Master Louis?” Liam asks. “Sir?”

Louis startles, pulled from his own thoughts by Liam’s voice. “Um . . . hi. It’s Liam, right?” 

“Yes, sir.” He pats the spot next to him on the bed. “You’re very far away. Why don’t you come closer?”

Louis nods and takes a seat on the bed but on the very edge of it where it seems safe. He’s clutching the key so tightly that it’s leaving indents in his skin. 

“What would you like to do, sir?” Liam leans toward Louis, his voice husky. Louis reckons it’s supposed to be enticing but there’s a false note in it that renders it the complete opposite.

“Please just call me Louis. I hate it when people call me sir,” he mutters.

“Alright, Louis. What would you like to do tonight?” Liam is closer now and the sheet just keeps slipping and the way he is leaning lets Louis see the curve of his very nice arse. 

“I just . . . I just want to try to wrap my head around this for a minute. No offense because you’re quite fit and all but I just saw my father kiss you and I might need therapy based just on that. Not to mention the rest of _this_.” He gestures around wildly with one hand, encompassing everything.

Liam sits back abruptly and wraps the sheet around himself, covering himself up to mid-chest. “Whatever you like. You hold the key.”

Louis looks at the key then drops it as if it burns him. “So, let me get this straight. You live up here? In this room?”

“Yes, sir . . . I mean, Louis,” Liam answers, correcting himself quickly. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Three years? I think. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track.”

“But I’ve been here!” Louis’ voice rises. “I’ve been here several times in the past three years. I’ve not seen you. I’ve not heard you. Not once.”

A small, rueful smile plays on Liam’s lips. “That’s because I never leave this room. And it’s soundproof, of course.”

“You never leave?” Louis asks, incredulous.

“Didn’t your father explain how this works?”

“Yeah, a bit but . . . but it must just be so terrible. To be trapped here all the time. You must hate it.” Louis can’t even imagine it. Even if the room is spacious and open, he’s fairly sure he would go mad if he couldn’t ever leave it. 

“I . . . well . . .” Liam stammers, looking away. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”

“I do actually. God, that explains why you’re so pale. When was the last time you saw the sun?”

For a brief moment it appears that Liam will answer. But then he surges forward, letting the sheet drop. He’s back to the patently false, husky voice as he says, “Let’s talk about something else. Or better yet, let’s not talk at all.”

“Hang on.” Louis scrambles back, nearly falling off the bed in the process. “Hang on, answer the question. How long has it been?”

A look of defeat briefly crosses Liam’s face. “Three years, like I said.”

“This whole time, you’ve not been out once?”

Liam merely shrugs. 

“Oh god . . . how . . . old are you, Liam?”

“Twenty, sir.”

Louis barely notices that he’s reverted back to calling him sir. “Twenty? My father bought you when you were seventeen?”

Louis feels ill all over again. He drops his head into his hands. “Oh, it just gets worse. It just gets worse and worse.” A thought occurs to him then and he snaps his head back up. “Does my mum know about you?”

“I really don’t think we should talk about this,” Liam says, shaking his head. “It’s making you uncomfortable.”

“I’ve been uncomfortable since the moment I walked in the front door of this place. So please, it’s ok, just tell me.”

Liam hesitates still, long enough for Louis to get impatient. “Yeah,” he says finally. “She helped your father decide on me.”

“Does she ever . . . does she ever come up here? Does she ever hold the key?” Louis’ not sure he really wants to know and yet he feels he’s compelled to ask. He needs to know everything.

Liam drops his gaze with a sigh. “Yes.”

Louis stands so quickly he gives himself a head rush. “Oh my god.” He feels dizzy and surely there’s less air in the room than there was a moment ago. This time he’s fairly sure he’s going to vomit all over the lovely carpet in the room if he doesn’t get out of here.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Liam laughs without an ounce of humor. “Sorry? Why? You didn’t do this.”

Louis begins to back away. “I have to go. I really, really have to go now.”

“But you didn’t even–” Liam begins. 

“You know . . . I possibly could have lived with the idea that my father is some weirdo perv. But to find out my brother and mother are as well? It’s a bit much, yeah? You know . . . for one night, it’s a bit much.”

“You don’t find me appealing,” Liam says. It’s not a question and Louis has a hard time reading the intent behind the statement. It might have been hurt in his voice or it might have been hope, it’s impossible to know.

“Listen, if I’d have met you at a club or something, we would have already been at your flat and having ourselves a nice shag, but this . . . I can’t. I just can’t. So I’m going to go, and get completely pissed, and I’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Liam nods and holds out his hand. In it lays the key. His face is a blank mask when he says, “Can’t forget this. Louis.”

Louis snatches it away from him, feeling the heat of skin-to-skin contact before moving quickly away and out the door. He takes a moment to sag against the closed door, muttering a very violent, “Fuck,” before he takes off running back down the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis had never imagined that his family would hold this kind of secret. What begins as a dreaded weekend with them ends with a hidden room, a secret door and the discovery that the man that lies beyond that door could change his life forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will not be a pretty fic. This is not a "Liam is happy to be Louis's slave" fic. This will be angsty and it might hurt. Liam will hurt. Louis will hurt. I warned for rape because of the nature of the story and its themes of sexual slavery. It will however have a happy ending.

Liam waits a beat, then another and another before finally collapsing back on the bed in relief. 

He hadn’t known how this was going to go, he never does, but he wasn’t expecting _that_. So far the rest of the Tomlinson clan has been more than willing to, as Master Richard had said, touch and experiment. He’d expected Louis to be the same.

He recognizes that Louis hadn’t been fully prepared for him though, Master Richard does like to be dramatic, but then again Roger hadn’t been prepared either and he certainly had been very eager. Liam remembers quite clearly that Master Richard hadn’t even properly left the room before Roger had pounced on him. 

And what a night that had been.

He slips from the bed, fully nude, and makes his way over to the far wall. He considers putting some clothes on but he has a feeling he’ll soon be taking them off anyway. He slides aside a partition in the wall to reveal a fully stocked bar. He opts for the scotch; craving its heat. It’s quality scotch but then again everything he has here is. Master Richard likes him to be comfortable. 

He slides down to the floor and sits, arranging himself so he’s comfortable and facing the clock on the wall rather than the door. 

He waits. 

He wonders idly if it will be Master Richard that comes back. He wouldn’t mind that so much. Master Richard treats him like a well-pampered pet or a particularly precious piece of art; always gentle as if he were fragile. 

He takes a sip, savoring the taste on his tongue before swallowing it down. Yes, he’d much rather it be him than Roger. He grimaces thinking about the way that Roger treats him. The complete opposite of his father, he doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the words gentle or kind. 

Or he supposes, it could be Louis. There’s nothing to say that he won’t screw up his courage and come wandering back here, intent on trying out the new toy and making his daddy proud after all.

He takes another sip. He doesn’t want it to be Louis. The man is an unknown quantity and Liam hates that. He hates not knowing what to expect. 

Maybe it’ll be Viola. She doesn’t come often but she’s easy to please. The women always are.

He downs the scotch in hopes that its fire will put an end to all this thinking he’s doing. He doesn’t like to think. That leads to things like wanting to smash the glass and slice his wrists to ribbons with it. He’d almost done that once. Well, several times actually. He’s been so close. 

Sometimes he wishes he had.

It’s twenty-eight minutes later when the door opens. Liam holds his breath and turns his head. 

Roger. 

Shit. 

He should’ve had more scotch. 

“Get up, slut,” are Roger’s opening words. 

Lovely. 

Liam gets up but makes no other move. 

Roger staggers in, swaying a bit, drunk probably. “Should’ve known my brother would be too pathetic to do anything,” Roger says. 

Liam stays silent, watching for any clue as to what might come next. Roger is nothing if not unpredictable. 

Still, the slap across his face surprises him. Roger moves quickly when he wants to and he hadn’t seen that coming. Liam staggers backward, catching himself on the footboard of the bed. 

Roger is there a moment later, folding himself over Liam’s body, forcing him to bend back in an effort to get some space between them. Roger’s hand grips his hair, pulling him further and now his back is bowed and stretched so far it hurts. 

“What should we do, slut?”

He wants to roll his eyes at the slur and say something like, ‘how about you come up with an original insult for me?’ but that would be incredibly stupid of him. 

Instead he says, “Whatever you’d like, sir.”

“Could fuck you right here, take you on the floor. Or maybe on that contraption, eh? Put you in those stirrups? I know how much you like those.”

And what Roger means by that is that he knows that Liam hates them more than almost anything. Still, he stays silent, waiting on Roger’s next move. 

“Or . . . or maybe I fuck you on your little weight bench there?”

That pulls a response from him like nothing else could, tearing through the wall of apathy that Liam has built up around himself. He looks up at Roger and meets his gaze, searching for any hint of humanity. “Not there, please.”

“Why not?” Roger asks even though he surely already knows. 

“Just not there,” he says. He can’t tell him. He can’t tell him that he has so little, and that area is one of the few things that he considers his. It’s the one area in this whole bloody room that isn’t tainted. “Please. Anywhere else. Anything else.”

“Well if it’s so important to you, you could stand to beg a little more.”

“I _am_ begging. Please. I am,” he says, and it’s not even acting, he’s really pleading and he hates Roger just a tiny bit more for making him do it.

Roger raises Liam’s head, easing the pressure from his back. “Yeah, that was good. That was real good. You beg pretty.” 

Liam steals a deep breath, thankful that his back is no longer screaming in agony but still wary of what’s to come. 

“Come on, slut. On the bed. We’ll take it easy on you tonight, yeah?”

Right, Liam thinks, easy. But he does as he’s told, as soon as the hold on his hair is released, he scrambles onto the bed. Roger climbs onto it, slinking toward him like some kind of fucking jungle cat and Liam can’t help think that he looks both ridiculous and terrifying at the same time. 

Roger reaches him, bringing their mouths together, except that Roger doesn’t kiss, he bites. At the first sting against his lips, Liam closes his eyes and wishes he had tried harder to keep Louis here. 

At the second sting, he stops thinking altogether.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis had never imagined that his family would hold this kind of secret. What begins as a dreaded weekend with them ends with a hidden room, a secret door and the discovery that the man that lies beyond that door could change his life forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will not be a pretty fic. This is not a "Liam is happy to be Louis's slave" fic. This will be angsty and it might hurt. Liam will hurt. Louis will hurt. I warned for rape because of the nature of the story and its themes of sexual slavery. It will however have a happy ending.

The sun is out and shining the next day so Louis decides to take advantage. He sits on a lawn chair at the back of the house, overlooking the large expanse of lawn, sipping a glass of water and nursing his hangover. 

After the experience of the room last night, he’d marched back downstairs, tracked his father down to his study and slammed the key down on his desk. 

“No, thank you,” he’d said and turned away, not even bothering to give his father a chance to speak. 

And then he’d gone and gotten blind drunk, not stopping until he was throwing up everything up in the toilet. 

And yet none of that could erase the picture of Liam from his mind. Not just one picture but an entire collage, snapshots of him taken by Louis’ mind in the short time they’d been together.

_You don’t find me appealing_

Except that he does. Louis finds Liam very appealing.

Louis blinks, an attempt to shut out the images of a pale boy with warm eyes. He should just go back home, he thinks. She should try leave and try to forget all of this.

He should. 

And yet he’s not moving. 

Not even when Roger ambles his way over to him and sits down on the chair opposite him. “So,” Roger says, “you pussied out. I knew you would.”

“Good morning to you too, brother.”

“I told dad that he was wasting his time giving you the key. But you know how he is; going on about the legacy and all.”

“Is there a reason you’re regaling me with all this information?” Louis asks.

“No reason at all. I’m actually quite pleased you didn’t do anything. Gave me a chance at a go.”

“You went after I left?”

Roger smiles, his expression smug and satisfied. “Fucked him senseless too. Poor lad probably can’t even walk today.”

“Jesus, are you always so vile?” Louis spits out. “Do you have to work at being a massive git or does it just come naturally?”

“Jealous?”

“Why would I be?” Louis asks, settling back down. He hates it when his brother gets to him. “I don’t have to force people to sleep with me.”

“Force?” Roger laughs. “I didn’t force him, Louis. He spread his legs quite easily.”

“Jesus,” Louis mutters. 

Roger laughs again. He’s enjoying this. He’s always enjoyed winding Louis up. “I reckon Liam misses me already,” he says. He stands up, making to leave. “Think I’ll take the key again tonight.”

Louis doesn’t bother with a goodbye, merely watches him go, glad when he’s out of sight

“Not if I get the key first,” he murmurs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

The phone rings, loud and shrill, disturbing the quiet of the room. Liam ignores it for as long as he can before he sighs and goes to answer it. 

“Yes?”

“You’ll be having a visitor tonight,” the voice on the other end tells him. 

Liam pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “Who?”

“Not sure. One of the sons.”

“Alright. You feeding me first, Seth?”

“Don’t I always?”

“You are too good to me,” he says. And with that he rings off. 

‘So, one of the sons’, he thinks. He considers the possibility that it’s Roger, hoping that it’s not. He’s not certain he can handle another night of Roger’s treatment. He still aches despite the hot bath and painkillers he’d downed earlier. 

The only other option is Louis, the wildcard, the one whose intentions aren’t clear. But, Liam amends; they’re growing clearer, aren’t they? After all, what other reason would he have to come here?

Liam figures he has about five hours before he’s called to entertain. He puts it resolutely out of his mind, determined to enjoy the time he has left. 

By the time the door begins to edge open, nearly six hours later, he’s sat on his bed, legs crossed, waiting. He’s in loose linen trousers and he wears no shirt and no pants; there’s no point. 

He’s curious, and perhaps a bit nervous to see who’s on the other side of the door. It finally opens all the way. 

“Hi.” 

Oh . . . 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding. 

_Louis_

Louis with the blue eyes and the high cheekbones and the face of a model. 

“Hi.” Liam kneels up, knowing that his body looks good like this, that _he_ looks good like this. He plasters a fake smile on his face and tries to look inviting. 

“So um . . . hi,” Louis says. 

“Hi.” He waits a beat and says, “You came back.”

“I did. And I brought . . .” Louis brings his hands out from behind his back. He’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses and a corkscrew in the other. “I brought alcohol. Thought it might . . . well, you can never go wrong with wine, right?” He gives a slight head tilt. “May I?”

Liam nods and settles back down, getting comfortable once more. He finds himself absurdly touched that Louis asked. No one ever asks. “Yeah, of course.”

“Should I sit here?” Louis asks, looking at the bed as he approaches it. He seems unsure and perhaps a bit nervous but not freaked out like last night. Liam imagines he’s had just enough time to get used to the idea of his family owning a key.

“Yeah,” he says, patting the bed much as he did last night. “Please do.”

Louis sits, adopting the same position as Liam, as if mirroring him. They are close but their knees do not touch. Liam watches Louis as he busies himself uncorking the bottle and then pouring the wine into the glasses. He notes the way that Louis’ brow furrows as he works, the way his hands move, steady and careful so he doesn’t spill a drop. 

Louis hands him a glass and Liam takes it, holding it up so he can inhale its fragrance.

“Cheers, mate.”

Liam bristles a little at the word mate, they’re certainly not friends, but he raises his glass anyway. 

They both take a long sip and then bring their glasses down, eyeing and assessing each other. 

“So,” Liam begins. “What brings you back, Louis?”

“I just thought we could share some wine. Hang out for a bit, you know.”

“Sure. Of course we can.”

He takes another sip, watching Louis over the rim of the glass. How much longer until he makes his move, he wonders. How much longer until Louis tosses everything aside and comes crawling over to him? 

Liam hopes that he doesn’t slink like Roger. He’s fairly sure he’d burst out laughing. 

“So tell me about yourself, Liam,” Louis says. 

In his three years here, Liam’s learned to handle just about any situation or question. This one doesn’t come up very often but it has on occasion. 

“Not much to tell,” he shrugs. It’s the standard answer; most of them don’t want to know anyway, the ones that Master Richard sometimes gifts the key to.

“Where are you from?” Louis persists. 

“Wolverhampton,” he answers because it gives so little away.

“Never been.”

“You’ve not missed much.”

Louis laughs. “Come now, that can’t be right. I’m sure it’s very nice.”

“It’s nice enough. I’ve not much to compare it to.”

“I’m from London. Ever been there?”

“For a bit. Your father found me there.” Liam takes a long swallow of the wine and finds his glass empty. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d been drinking it steadily.

“Oh.” The way that Louis’ face falls is almost comical. “Let’s back away from that topic, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” Liam says, but he allows a smile as he says it. 

Louis drains the last of his wine and picks up the bottle. “More?”

“Oh god, yes,” Liam says, holding out his glass. He surprises himself by laughing, surprised even more when Louis joins in and for a moment it feels so normal that it hurts, literally hurts as if his insides are crumbling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can I tell you something?” Liam asks much later, when the wine is all gone and his head is swimming and his body feels both prickly and numb.

“Yeah, course,” Louis drawls.

He looks to be in the same state; with his body relaxed and eyes soft. 

Liam doesn’t really think about what he’s about to say, just says it because it’s on his mind, has been on his mind this whole time and he feels like he can no longer keep it back. The words spill out as if from a broken dam.

“I keep waiting for you to touch me and get started. Like this is all been some warm-up. And part of me keeps hoping that you’ll just do it and get it over with. And part of me keeps hoping that you never will.”

“Oh. Oh, Liam . . .”

Liam pulls back, hand covering his face as if he can somehow hide behind it. Why had he said that? What could possibly have convinced him to say that?

“I am so sorry, sir. I am so, so sorry.” He is beyond mortified. And he is frightened. Terribly so.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Louis says, quick to reassure. “Liam, it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he shakes his head furiously. “I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t tell your father.” He’s begging. It seems he’s always begging a Tomlinson not to hurt him.

“Hey, stop,” Louis edges closer until their knees touch. His hand gently clasps Liam’s chin, holding him steady. “Hush, darling. Alright? Hush.”

 _Darling?_

The term of endearment gives Liam pause and he stills in Louis’ hands. His inhale is shaky, his exhale more so, but he calms. 

“There,” Louis says, pulling away. Liam chases after the warmth of his touch before catching himself. “Now, give me your hand.” Louis holds his own out, palm up. He waves it a little when Liam hesitates. Liam places his hand in Louis’ and their fingers intertwine. It feels good . . . like comfort and care. 

“See this?” Louis says, indicating their hands. “Unless you want it, unless you ask me for it, this is the most I will ever take from you. Right here.”

Liam’s gaze drifts down. Louis’ skin is so tan while his is so pale. The contrast is striking, like night and day. 

“But then why are you here?” Liam asks.

“Honestly?” 

“Yes. Please.”

“Because nobody should be on the receiving end of a shag from my brother. Or the giving end. Or any end for that matter.”

Liam gives a wary smile. “You’re funny,” he says. 

“Yeah, I know.” Louis smiles and winks. “I’m a riot.” Then he sobers and says, “I know he was here last night.”

“Oh. I see.”

“And I knew he was planning on coming back tonight. And I just simply couldn’t have that, could I?”

“So you saved me from your own brother? Is that it?” 

“That I did. Saved you with wine and awkward conversation.”

That was on purpose, to make him laugh and yet Liam can’t relax enough to let go. “Do I . . . do I owe you now?” he asks. 

“No,” Louis says. This time his smile is warm and a little sad. “You don’t owe me a thing.”

Liam feels he should say something but he doesn’t quite know what and he knows he should really let go of Louis’ hand but he can’t seem to make himself do that either. Touching Louis like this, the first nonsexual touch he’s had in so long, feels good. It’s comfort and it’s warmth, neither of which he’s used to and he knows he’s being selfish but he just wants it to last.

The silence drags on until it grows heavy and thick. Much more and it will be oppressive. Liam clears his throat and finally manages to pull his hand away. He settles it on his own lap where it lies warm and a bit damp. 

“We’re out of wine,” he says weakly, shaking the glass slightly as if he needs to prove his point. “But I have more liquor. If you want.”

Louis’s smile is no longer sad. It’s grown wider but Liam can’t quite read its intent. He likes to believe that Louis understands how much import to give this invitation. 

Louis bounds up from the bed and Liam is given an insight into the energy of him. He wonders what he’s like outside this room. 

“Sounds brilliant,” Louis says. “Show me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this story and giving kudos and leaving comments. I absolutely LIVE for comments so you know . . . if you feel generous, I would LOVE to hear from you :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . not a lot happens in this chapter. Just a little more closeness between the boys. Next chapter things get rough

Louis doesn’t give the key back to his father after leaving Liam, because, fuck him, just fuck him. Let him wait, he really doesn’t feel like dealing with the man. 

Instead he sleeps with it next to him, his hand curled around it, and he dreams, in stops and starts, of Liam. 

When he wakes up the next morning, he holds the key and stares at it, not really seeing it at all. He remembers how he and Liam had talked the night before after they’d gotten into the scotch. How it had, maybe, if you squinted a bit and turned your head, felt like they were on a date. 

They’d kept to safe topics and had a nice time, and Louis had held Liam’s hand off and on because Liam seemed to like that. 

And now . . . now he holds the Sardonyx Key and he’s not really sure what to make of any of it, because everything always looks so damn different in the daylight. 

He had gone to Liam’s room ostensibly to keep Roger from being able to do it. His brother was an insufferable prick and anything that irritated him was a worthwhile activity as far as Louis was concerned. 

But that wasn’t the reason he had stayed. 

He sighs and runs a hand over his face as he stumbles out of bed. He knows that he needs to talk to his father. He needs to give him back the key. And he needs to decide if he will see Liam again. 

He breakfasts with his parents and when they’re done, he asks to speak with his father alone. They head to his father’s study, his sanctum, where Louis settles in opposite him. His father looks smug as he takes the key back. 

“So, how was he?” he asks. 

“How was he?” Louis repeats, stalling for time because he simply cannot fathom that he’s living the kind of life where this question is asked. “He was great,” he finally says. He takes a moment to consider whether or not to let his father believe that he used Liam. He decides not to. It’s much more fun, and familiar, to wind the old man up. “I didn’t touch him and we had a nice conversation.”

His father is most definitely not pleased. “A conversation? Louis! What was the point of taking the key, then? Your brother was terribly disappointed that he couldn’t see Liam.”

“ _That father_ . . . that was the point.”

Louis can tell when his father goes past irritation and into full anger. His face sets into these grim lines and his eyes darken and his voice drops two octaves. “Louis!” It’s not so much a shout as a thunderous booming and Louis knows that he’s gone too far. 

He holds up his hands. “Alright, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Or done it. Roger just . . . he was bragging and being such an arse and I . . . well, I couldn’t help myself, could I?”

“Louis, when are you going to grow up and start acting like a man? I was hoping that showing you the key, giving you something so special, would help drive that, but I see I was wrong.”

Louis is used to disappointing his father. The words should sting but instead they only feel familiar. He shrugs. “I am a man, just not the one you want me to be.”

The anger drains from Louis’ father in one long sigh. “Well, I can’t force you to take Liam. I mean, he is there for you, if you ever wish. I don’t see why you feel the need to deprive your brother however.”

“Why Liam, dad?” Louis asks with a suddenness that surprises him. But really, it’s what he’s wanted to ask all along. “Why did you pick him?”

“Because he’s beautiful,” his father says. He makes it sound so simple, as if something like this could ever be. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah, of course, but . . . he was only seventeen then. How did he look? Was he beautiful then?”

“He looked different; young and soft and innocent. But I knew, Louis. I could see it in him, how special he was. And I’m never wrong about these things.”

Louis digests the information as if he’d been starving for it. Young and soft . . . yes, he can imagine that; can imagine a young Liam, innocent and trusting. He decides to ask about other things. “Are we . . . I mean, this family, the only ones who have access to him?”

“No, there are others.”

“Who?”

“Friends. Business partners. Potential business partners.”

Louis feels mildly ill at the thought of it. “Oh god. That’s so much. Isn’t that too much for him?”

“It isn’t, Louis. I’m very selective. And I vet everyone very well. Only the ones who are worthy of such a gift are allowed access to the key.”

“Has anyone ever hurt him? I’ve seen those things on the wall,” he shudders. “And that horrid table.”

“Louis, you have to understand. Those items, they’re merely fantasy. People have different tastes.”

“But has he ever been hurt?” Louis presses. This is important. The idea that Liam has been hurt by some of these men and women is upsetting; terribly so.

“No, Louis. He’s not been hurt. Not more than the game allowed.”

That particular phrase doesn’t really sit well with him, but he relaxes a bit nonetheless. “But what about when nobody’s here? What happens then?”

“He has a caretaker, more than one, they rotate months. Right now it’s Seth and Seth takes very good care of him. He gets all his meals; we bring doctors in for medical care. Everything he needs.”

“Except for seeing the sun,” Louis mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, dad.”

His father gives him a knowing smile and extends his hand. The key is there. “Your brother has it tonight. Would you like it for tomorrow evening?”

Louis stares at it, wishing he could say no. He should say no, to show that he doesn’t approve and wants no part in this “tradition”. But instead he remembers Liam’s warm brown eyes and how solid his hand had felt in Louis’ own. He thinks about how lonely he must be and wonders what must be worse for him; loneliness or the company of people that are only there to use him. 

“Yeah,” he says at last. “Yeah, I would.”

He has to wait an entire day and most of another one before he can see Liam again and he hates it, hates the waiting, hates the slow ticking of time. He hates the fact that Roger has the key first and that is Roger is with Liam. 

He tries not to dwell overmuch on exactly what might be happening up there in that room. That would be the stuff of nightmares. 

But time does pass and it’s finally his turn, finally. And now he’s got the key in his hand, its heft almost familiar now, and he’s turning it into the lock and opening the door. 

He steps inside and immediately looks toward the bed, the place where he has found Liam the last two times. Except that the bed is empty. He frowns and walks in further, his eyes scanning the room until he catches sight of him. Liam is sat on the floor next to the window and is gazing outside. He’s wearing loose jeans and a black shirt and no shoes or socks. He looks rumpled and comfortable and sexy in a way that wasn’t ever present before. He turns his head when Louis enters the room and he smiles, soft and easy. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, Liam.”

Liam’s smile goes shy as he says, “I um . . . I knew it would be you tonight and I reckoned it’d be alright if I . . . well, if I didn’t do the whole sex kitten thing.”

Louis gets it. Or he thinks he does. And there’s a swelling of emotion, something that causes him to feel a surge of warmth at the thought that Liam feels comfortable with him being there. That he feels comfortable enough to wear his normal clothing. Comfortable enough not to be perched on the bed like some kind of sex worker. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s good,” Louis says. “You actually . . . you look really nice.”

“Really?” Liam looks down at himself as he stands. “Thanks.” He doesn’t move, waiting instead until Louis comes to him. 

“What were you looking at?”

“Nothing really. Just . . . outside. This is my favorite place in the whole room. Right here.” Liam blushes as soon as the words are said, as if he’s given too much away. 

Louis stands in front of the window and looks out. The window itself reaches from the ceiling to the floor though it’s not all that wide. It affords a lovely view of the gardens at the back of the house though. “I can see why. It’s nice, innit?”

“Yeah. I spend hours here sometimes. Silly but, all the modern technology I have to muck around with and I’m usually sat here staring outside.”

“Well, maybe we should both settle down here, then? Get comfy?”

“Really? Yeah, that’d be awesome.” He slides back down gracefully and quickly, almost as if he’s afraid that Louis will change his mind if he tarries.

Louis follows suit, nowhere near as gracefully.

After a moment, Liam says, “So you came back. Again.”

“I did. And my promise still stands.” He reaches his hand out, happy when Liam clasps it tightly. He gives it a squeeze before letting go. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam waits a beat then, words tumbling out in a rush, says, “I just need to stop worrying about why you’re here and just maybe start enjoying the fact that you are.”

Louis gives him a big smile, pleased at that. “Well, there you go then. That’s exactly what you need to do.”

“No wine this time?”

“No. Thought maybe we could break into your collection instead.”

Liam gives him a smile then, bright and open, and it touches every aspect of his face, and god, it’s dizzying just how beautiful he is when he’s happy and unguarded.

“You alright, Louis?” Liam asks, his hand coming to rest on Louis shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Louis gasps. He’s not about to tell Liam that his smile just caused him pulmonary distress. “Just . . . swallowed wrong. So . . . liquor, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They settle back by the window and take turns swigging straight from the bottle. Their conversation isn’t easy, it stutters in stops and starts but the alcohol paves the way. 

They somehow manage, staying on safe topics like tv shows and music and video games. After a while, Liam says in a soft voice, “You’re different from them. Why are you so different?”

“From who?”

“Your family.”

Louis chuckles. “That mate, is the best compliment anyone’s ever given me. So thank you. Cheers.”

“You don’t like them much, do you?”

“Not much, no. And yes, I’ve spent most of my life trying to be as different from them as possible.”

“Why? I mean . . . you don’t have to say.” Liam looks uncomfortable and Louis has by now decided that he hates it when Liam looks uncomfortable. Liam should only always be happy and smiling one of his ridiculously beautiful smiles.

“No, it’s fine,” he hurries to say. “It’s just. It’s complicated.”

“Ok.” Liam lifts the bottle and takes a drink. He offers it back to Louis. “I can wait, if you like.”

Louis takes it but doesn’t drink from it. He sets it to the side and gazes down at the carpet, pulling at its fibers as he tries to figure out what to say. 

“I like it that you’re different,” Liam whispers. “If you didn’t know.”

Louis glances up and meets Liam’s gaze. He sees concern there and gratefulness and that’s enough to spur him on to speak.

“When I was ten, I think. Think it was ten, yeah. My mum took my aside and told me that my father was having an affair with his secretary. My mum was completely pissed at the time, of course. Didn’t even remember telling me. She still doesn’t to this day.”

“Oh. Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

“Well, don’t be. It doesn’t matter. It was just an example of how my family works.”

“I’m still sorry, Louis.”

“Yeah, well. Up until then, I thought my dad hung the moon, you know? And now . . . I don’t know. I suppose I haven’t forgiven either one of them for it.”

It feels strange to say those words because Louis’ never really given it much thought. His mother’s a drunk and his father’s distant and cold and that’s just how he’s thought of them for so long. But now that he’s said it aloud, it feels like the absolute truth. Because that’s about the time that things started to go wrong. That’s about the time that the feeling of resentment started to creep into his life and he started to chase a happiness that he has never been able to catch. 

“What about you?” he asks, eager to deflect from his life. “Your parents? Your family?” 

“My mum died when I was young,” Liam says. “My dad, he didn’t really care much for me. Blamed me for mum, I think. He sold me as soon as he was able, when I turned twelve. Day after my birthday.”

“Oh god. I am so sorry. That’s terrible, Liam.”

Liam shrugs. “It is what it is, innit? Don’t think about it much. No point.”

It all seems so matter-of-fact to Liam, and maybe it is, but Louis feels a bit shattered by it. He knows how the system works and he knows that people do sell their children into it, but he’s never known anyone that it’s happened to. Or, more honestly, he’s never taken the time to ask. 

“And here I am going on about my life when yours is so much worse. Jesus, I’m an idiot.”

“It’s fine, Louis. It’s not a competition. A shitty thing is a shitty thing. But I mean, at least you have your parents. And I’m sure they love you, even if they don’t always know how to show it.”

“I guess,” Louis says begrudgingly though he’s really not ready for those kinds of truths. 

And really, it’s getting far too heavy in here too quickly. He shakes it off, both literally and metaphorically and plasters on a smile that isn’t quite real yet. He tilts his head toward the television and game console. “You any good at any of those?”

Liam, to his credit, goes with the change in mood easily. “Are you kidding? I’m bloody fantastic at them.”

“Fancy a challenge, then?” Louis smirks, lifting an eyebrow. 

Liam’s answering grin is more sweet than wicked. “Nothing I’d rather do more.” 

And hours later, after he’s long settled in bed, Louis sleeps clutching the key and dreaming, in stops and starts, of Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this story and giving kudos and leaving comments. I absolutely LIVE for comments so you know . . . if you feel generous, I would love to hear from you :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, ok . . . bad things happen to Liam in this chapter. It's detailed but not overly so. Flogging, fisting. Just . . . all the bad things. 
> 
> Enter at your own risk. If you don't want to read this chapter, I think you can safely skip it. Just know that it was bad.

The next night is Roger’s turn. Liam finds it interesting how the dynamic of things has changed since Louis was told about the key. Liam is now ping-ponging back and forth between the brothers and he finds that he doesn’t much mind. He hates the nights with Roger but he likes the ones with Louis and that helps so much. Master Richard and Viola have always treated him well and he supposes he has no complaints in that regard but with Louis it’s completely different. Louis plays video games with him and drinks with him and talks with him. Talks _with_ him not to him.

Louis treats him like a person. 

Liam isn’t even sure why Louis comes to see him. He’s not really sure what he’s good for if there’s no sex involved; he surely can’t be that good of company. 

But he doesn’t want to jinx it and he doesn’t want it to end, although he knows that it will.

Even as he’s sat on the bed, naked and waiting for Roger, all he can think of is Louis and wishing it were his night instead.

Roger enters minutes later. He sways a bit when he walks and his eyes are red and bleary. 

Roger when he’s sober is bad enough. Roger when he’s been drinking is a nightmare. Liam wants to back away and curl up and protect himself, but he knows that he can’t. This is his only function, his purpose, and he has to live up to it, no matter how badly he hates it. 

“Hello, sir,” he says. He doesn’t worry about trying to look sexy; he knows that it’ll just go over Roger’s head tonight anyway. He knees up and starts to lean forward. “How can I please you tonight?” 

Roger has reached the edge of the bed. He’s leering, hand reaching out to touch Liam’s knee. “No, stay there. Turn over.”

Liam does as he’s told, lying on his stomach. He places his arms above his head, gripping the sheets tightly for a moment before forcing himself to relax and let go. 

Roger sprawls across him, clumsy in his movements as he pulls Liam’s arms up and secures his wrists into the manacles at the bedposts. His breath burns against Liam’s ear as he whispers roughly, “Fucking slut. Gonna give it to you good tonight, yeah? You’re gonna love this. Have you begging me for more.”

The restraints are soft and supple but to Liam they feel like iron as they tighten around his wrists. Roger does the same to his ankles, tightening until his body feels taught and he’s trapped and helpless. 

The sting of Roger’s teeth starts then, bites trailing from the back of Liam’s neck down to his shoulders and further. Liam hisses, clenches and unclenches his fists. He knows this is only the start. He’s got to relax or he’s never going to get through it. 

Roger’s weight shifts and Liam can hear him rustling in the drawer. Moments later he feels Roger’s lube-slicked cock nudging at his entrance and he takes in a deep breath and forces it out, willing himself to relax. The pain is blunt but manageable and he still believes he can get through this unscathed.

“Is this what my brother does to you?” Roger asks he sets up a punishing rhythm. “Does he fuck you like this? Hm? He take you hard?”

Liam’s not sure what to say, not sure what Roger wants to hear. He hazards a guess and goes with the truth. “No, sir. He doesn’t.”

“No? Does he do you soft? Like a girl?”

“Sir, please, I don’t –“

“You love it like this, don’t you. Fucking slut,” Roger pants, and the words just slide right into Liam’s ear and he has to close his eyes to ward against them. 

“Yes, sir. I do. Please,” he says, because he thinks this is what Roger wants to hear.

“Fucking course you do,” Roger grunts and keeps at it. 

‘Taking too long. Whiskey dick,’ Liam thinks. This has happened before; pretty much every time that Roger drinks to excess. Liam waits, trying to ride it out, hoping that Roger gets his nut off soon and disappears.

That’s not happening, however. Roger pulls out of him harshly and staggers to a stand. “This is all your fault,” he mutters to Liam. “Not doing it right. Worthless.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he replies dutifully. He should offer to be better but he can’t quite make himself say the words. 

When Roger stumbles back to him, he’s got a flogger in his hands and he’s already slapping it into the air to test it.

“Shit,” Liam mumbles, turning his face into the mattress and closing his eyes. 

“This’ll help, I think. Be fun anyway.”

“Master Roger,” Liam begins to say, but he is cut short by the flogger landing hard against his left shoulder. The pain is immediate and intense, a lingering fire upon his skin.

“Fuck,” he gasps, mouthing it against the pillow. 

It happens again, across his other shoulder this time. Then down the middle of his back. 

Again. 

Again.

This too shall pass. He knows this. Eventually this will stop and Roger will go away and he can lick his wounds in peace. If only it weren’t taking so bloody long. 

“Sir, please . . .” he gasps. “I can’t . . .”

He knows that Roger wants him to beg and that’s a good thing because his mind and body instinctively want him to. 

But Roger pays no heed and as it continues, on his back and buttocks, down his legs, his mind short-circuits on him and any rational thought leaves. 

“Please stop. Please. Sir, please.” He’s not even sure if he’s saying the words or just thinking them, stringing them out in an unbroken plea. 

He doesn’t even fully realize it when it stops, he’s still begging when Roger undoes the manacles and hefts him roughly to his feet. He stumbles and follows, Roger’s hand on his wrist and his arm around his waist the only things that are keeping him from collapsing.

“Up there,” Roger says, indicating the medical table. 

He’s too out of his mind with pain to answer properly. He flinches and tries to pull away instead of just obeying. Roger yanks him over to it impatiently, and essentially manhandles him onto it. Liam doesn’t fight, he’s slowly coming back to himself and he knows that he shouldn’t fight.

He’s strapped onto the table, once again helpless. 

This time there’s no lube to ease the entrance, just some hastily placed spit. 

‘This too shall pass,’ he thinks. Right? He can’t die from this, surely. But he feels like he just might, when Roger enters him and begins to pound into him. The burn of getting fucked is bad enough but it’s the pain of his bruised skin rubbing against the table that makes him feel like he won’t survive this. 

He bites his lip hard, drawing blood, so that he won’t be able to beg. He can’t stop the whimpering and the groans that escape him but he won’t give Roger the satisfaction of begging this time. 

But once again it’s taking too long and once Roger gets impatient and pulls out. “Fuck this. You’re too loose. Can’t get off.”

Liam doesn’t even look, keeping his gaze to the ceiling. He guesses that Roger’s grabbing a dildo, it’s happened before when he can’t perform, and surely this night will be over soon. 

He keeps thinking it, that it’s going to happen soon now. 

‘How soon is now,’ he thinks and that distracts him, the complete inanity of it, and he nearly giggles. Nearly, because now he feels Roger’s fingers poking and prodding inside of him. Roger’s twisting them and fucking them in and out and it’s not gentle. Liam gasps and tries to pull away but Roger places a hand on his stomach and presses down, forcing him to stay still. 

He tries to relax as he exhales. And it helps, at least until Roger keeps twisting, and it’s more than just three fingers inside. He’s curling his hand in, punching in and pushing in, not caring about Liam’s body resisting. He pushes in anyway, twisting until it’s his entire hand, his entire fist that’s inside.

Liam screams then, a guttural, choked off noise that echoes against the walls.

“See if my brother will want you after this. Ruined you for him, I reckon,” Roger slurs. “What do you think, Liam? Think he’ll want you now?”

Liam is beyond words, beyond thought. He’s not even aware that he’s crying, only that he hurts. 

Everything. 

All of it . . . hurts so badly.

He’s not even truly aware of when Roger stops and finally pulls out. He sags with the relief of it, but doesn’t really register Roger’s words or his possessive touch against his cheek. 

He doesn’t register the bindings being loosened or even when Roger leaves.

Awareness returns slowly and when it does, he finds himself alone, the tears on his face dry, his spread legs shaking. He doesn’t want to move, has no life left in him to do so, but he can’t stay here. He can’t bear to be on this hated contraption any longer and it hurts so badly that it’s making it hard to breathe. 

He turns to the side slowly and with exaggerated care and still every move is pain. He sets one leg down on the ground, then the other, supporting his body weight with his arms against the edge of the table. He steadies himself with a hiss. 

‘You can do this,’ he tells himself. ‘The bed isn’t that far, you can do this.’

His mental cheerleading doesn’t help him in the slightest. As soon as he takes one step forward, he crumbles and falls to the ground in a heap. “Fuck,” he groans, then says it again for good measure, louder, because it fucking hurts. It fucking hurts so badly. His skin feels stretched too tightly across his body and it feels hot, like he’s burning, and the bruises . . . he swears he can feel them imprinted on his very bones.

He’s been hurt by Roger before but never like this, never this badly, has never felt that kind of anger or contempt.

He lies still for a very long time, minutes certainly, not hours, it couldn’t be, but he doesn’t know. Time is hard to track when it passes by in beats and pulses of pain.   
He knows he has to get up though. He has to get to the phone, he has to call Seth and get help. He thinks he might be in a really bad way. He moves his hand between his legs and hazards a touch. The pain there is sharp, as if he’s been sliced open. He pulls his hand away and sees blood on his fingertips. Not a lot, but enough. The sight of it and the pain make him nauseous and he has to close his eyes and breathe through it until it passes. 

He has to move. He’s hurt badly. Why can’t he move? 

He sets one hand down on the floor, intending to use it to push himself up. If he can sit then he can stand. And if he can stand, then he can walk. 

That’s as far as he gets before he hears the door to the room opening. 

Fear makes him freeze. Roger again? If it’s Roger returned to play some more then he knows he won’t survive the night. He’ll die here. 

“Liam?”

Not Roger. Louis. Liam breathes out a sigh of relief, his bones turning to jelly from the release of his terror. 

He wants to call out to Louis because he’s sure he hasn’t seen him. But all that comes out is a quiet groan and a whisper of his name. 

Perhaps Louis hears anyway, because the next thing Liam is aware of is Louis’ hand against his cheek. Liam turns his head slightly and looks up into Louis’ eyes. 

“Oh my god, Liam,” Louis says and he looks . . . he looks scared. Scared for him, Liam realizes. 

Liam smiles blearily up at him before shutting his eyes and turning away. 

Louis is here. 

Perhaps he won’t die tonight after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where there was hurt, now there's comfort

Louis’ on his bed, surfing the net on his computer when Roger knocks at his door a second before barging in. 

“Louis,” he says as he leans against the wall, or more accurately, falls back against it.

Louis rolls his eyes. He can see from here that Roger has been drinking. And heavily too by the smell of him. “Roger. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He frowns as he glances at the clock on his nightstand. “Weren’t you meant to be with Liam?”

“All done with the little whore. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

“He’s not a whore, Roger so kindly shut it, please.”

“God, you really have a hard on for that boy, don’t you? What do you two do together? Do you read him poetry? Gaze into his eyes lovingly before you stick it in?”

Louis shakes his head, bound and determined not to let Roger get to him this time. “Why are you darkening my door?”

“Ah, that, dear brother. I just came to tell you that you’ll probably not want to take the key tomorrow. Afraid he’s going to be out of commission for at least a day, probably more, I don’t know.”

“What, from your pencil dick?” Louis scoffs. “Somehow I don’t think so.”

Roger shrugs. “Suit yourself. Take the key tomorrow. You won’t be able to do much with him.”

Despite Louis’ efforts to remain unaffected, he begins to feel a tug of worry. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Are you daft? I just said . . . he’ll need time to recover.”

Louis stands and begins to move toward his brother. “And I said, what’s wrong with him? What did you do?” 

“Relax, he’s not broken.” Roger gives a smirk and it’s cruel and cold and terrible. “Not really.”

Anger is quickly joining worry in Louis’ mind. “What did you do?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Roger gives another shrug. He pulls the key from his trouser pocket and tosses it carelessly to the floor. “Go find out for yourself if you’re so bloody worried.” 

Louis looks down at the key when Roger leaves. He picks it up, heart pounding. He doesn’t like the sound of any of this. Roger has never exactly been a nice person but he gets so much worse when he’s been drinking. His imagination is in overdrive trying to picture what Roger was hinting at.

He heads up to Liam’s room and uses the key to let himself in. He doesn’t see Liam at first, not on the bed or by his window. “Liam?” he calls out.

He steps forward, eyes scanning the room when he hears his own name, spoken just barely above a whisper. He follows the sound and sees Liam.

Sees Liam lying on the floor on his stomach, naked and shivering.

Louis wastes no time in rushing over to him and dropping down to his knees beside him.

“Oh my god, Liam.” His hands flutter uselessly over Liam’s body. He’s afraid to touch, because it seems as if red, raised welts cover every square inch of Liam’s back and legs, some of them open and bleeding sluggishly. His hand finally settles on Liam’s cheek, and he makes the touch as light and tender as he can.

Liam smiles up at him, actually manages a pained smile, before his eyes flutter closed.

“Did my brother do this to you?” Louis asks in horror.

“Yes,” Liam says simply, his voice hoarse and cracked. “Was trying to get to the bed but I can’t seem to move.” Liam opens his eyes. “Help me?”

“Yeah. Of course, yeah.” But as soon as he says it, his hands start flitting about nervously again. “I’m going to hurt you if I touch you,” he says. 

“I’m hurt anyway. Doesn’t matter,” Liam says. Then when Louis still hesitates, he adds, “Please, Louis. It’s ok.”

Louis takes a deep breath to try and steady himself. He’s never seen anyone hurt like this before, not outside of tv and the cinema, and his mind is reeling. “Alright, just . . . alright. Going to grab you by the waist and we’ll get there as quick as we can, yeah?”

Liam bites his lip and nods. “Yeah.”

Louis braces himself and grabs Liam about the waist with one arm, the other one holding onto Liam’s wrist as Liam drapes his arm over Louis’ shoulder. Louis pulls him up, noting with a small measure of pride that Liam is helping him as much as he can. He may be hurt but he’s still a fighter. But the sound that Liam makes when he’s moved makes Louis want to cover his ears and run. It’s the sound that only the wounded make when they’re in the throes of agony, a strangled cry of despair and hurt.

“Come on, then. One foot and all that,” Louis says, trying to keep things light when really he feels as if he wants to cry. 

Liam presses his face against the side of Louis’ neck and whimpers but then he does just that, puts one foot in front of the other until they manage to make it to the bed. “Gonna help you down, alright?” Louis asks. 

Liam gives a shaky nod and Louis lowers Liam to the bed slowly. 

“On your front,” Louis says. “Your back is . . . I don’t think you can lie down on that.”

“My front,” Liam agrees and allows Louis to maneuver him until he’s lying down on his stomach, his arms up by his head. The pillow is causing a strain on Liam’s neck so Louis gently pulls it away. Then he drops to the ground, out of breath and shaking from what feels like left over adrenaline. 

He looks over to Liam and sees that he’s panting hard as if he can’t catch his breath and that he’s shaking too, except that he’s nearly shaking apart. Louis considers drawing the sheets over his body to help, but he doesn’t think Liam can handle anything touching his skin. “Are you cold?” he asks. 

Liam gives a minute shake of his head. “No. I don’t know. Just hurts.”

“What do I do? How do I help you Liam?” he asks a bit desperately because he feels so far over his head.

“Call Seth. He’ll know what to do.”

Louis remembers the name from the talk with his father. He picks up the phone on the nightstand. “How?”

“He’s number one.”

So Louis punches the number and waits. After two rings, Seth answers. “Liam?”

“No. No this is Louis actually.”

The surprise in Seth’s voice is palpable. “Sir?”

“Listen, Liam’s been hurt and we need you to get here right away.”

“How was he hurt?”

“Apparently my shit brother decided to give him a good beating tonight.”

“Flogging,” Liam rasps.

“What?”

“Flogging, not beating.”

“Liam says a flogging not a beating,” Louis says into the phone. “Whatever, he looks like shit and he’s in pain.”

“I’ll be right there.”

They both ring off and Louis sets the phone aside and looks over at Liam. “He’s coming.”

“Thank you,” Liam says. “Thank you, Louis.”

Louis takes Liam’s hand, squeezing it gently. 

“Has he ever done this to you before? Hurt you like this?”

“Yes, but . . . not like this. Never been like this.”

“Christ,” Louis says. He leans forward and gives Liam’s hand a kiss across his knuckles. “It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be fine.”

Liam scrunches his eyes closed. “He wouldn’t stop,” he says, voice wavering. “He’s done this before but never . . . He kept talking about you. Asking how it was with you . . . I don’t know what he wanted to hear.”

Louis’ other hand makes its way to Liam’s hair and he cards through its softness. He’s very careful not to let the fact that he wants to strangle his brother show. “It’s alright now. It’s alright.”

A knock at the door puts a stop to any further conversation. Louis pulls away from Liam and opens the door to let Seth it. 

Seth is a big man and he looks as if he chews nails for breakfast but his voice is kind when he kneels beside the bed to speak with Liam. 

“Tell me, Liam.”

There are tears in Liam’s eyes that Louis really, really wants to brush away. Instead he stays to the side and out of the way. “He used the flogger and he wouldn’t stop. And he . . .” Liam’s voice drops to a whisper as it cracks. “He put his fist inside me, Seth. He couldn’t finish, so he did it that way.”

Louis turns his head and groans. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. So his brother’s a monster now, he thinks dazedly. 

“Anything else?” Seth asks, not unkindly. 

“No. Not really, no.”

Seth nods grimly and begins to look Liam over. He’s even got a medical bag, which helps to reassure Louis that this isn’t all completely dodgy.

“You might not want to stay for this part, sir,” Seth tells Louis.

Louis shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly.

Seth nods again and turns his attention back to Liam. He sits down on the edge of the bed by Liam’s legs and softly says, “This will hurt. I’ll try and be quick.”

And somehow Louis manages not to be sick as Seth inserts a gloved finger inside of Liam and begins to probe gently. 

Liam’s pained whimpering gives him something else to focus on besides the sight of what’s happening and he hurries to the bed and takes Liam’s hand in his. “You’re doing great, Liam. You’re doing so well. Just a little longer now,” he soothes, his voice sounding much more confident than he actually feels. 

Liam’s staring at him as if his words are a lifeline, like he’s desperate to grab onto them and hold them as true.

Louis keeps up the litany until Seth finishes his examination. 

“He’ll be alright, sir,” Seth says, speaking to Louis. “He’ll be in pain for a few days. Best not to move too much. I’ll give him pain pills that he can take and give him a shot for the pain now.”

“What about the uh . . . er . . .” Louis asks, gesturing with his free hand. 

Seth gives a small sigh. “Some tearing. It will heal on its own. I wouldn’t recommend any intercourse for a few days, but of course that’s entirely up to your family, Master Louis.”

“No, there will be no intercourse. No one will touch him,” Louis affirms. “But, are you sure?” Louis asks. “Maybe we should go to a proper doctor. No offense, Seth. I’m sure you’re wonderful.”

“I’ve been trained in first aid. I know what to do for Liam.” Then speaking to Liam, he says, “Do you understand, Liam?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m going to give you something for the pain that will help you sleep. The pills you can take every four hours. While you’re asleep I’m going to place some antibiotic cream inside you and on your back. You’ll be hurting for a few days, but you’ll be alright.”

“Thank you, Seth.”

“Did you hear that, Liam?” Louis asks. “You’re going to be just fine.” He once again cards his fingers through Liam’s hair while Seth gives Liam the shot. Liam seems to respond to the touch, relaxing a bit as his eyes flutter closed before opening again. 

“You’re going to be just fine, darling. Just fine,” Louis says again, repeating the words over and over.

He can feel the moment when the drugs start working within Liam’s system. His gaze goes soft and the pained lines that were carving into his face begin to disappear. His entire body relaxes as well, all the tension leaving it nearly instantaneously.

“Mm . . . I like that,” Liam says sleepily.

“What’s that?”

“When you call me darling. You say it like you mean it. I like that.”

“I do mean it, darling. I do,” Louis whispers. “I do.”

It isn’t until Liam’s breathing is deep and steady and he looks at peace that Louis lets go of Liam’s hand. He leans back and rubs at his face, trying to dispel the tears that are starting to form. He stubbornly refuses to cry. 

He looks over to Seth to see that he’s done tending to Liam and preparing to leave. 

“You sure he’ll be alright?”

“Yes, sir. He was in a lot of pain but it’s all just bruising, really. The skin did open up in some places but as long as we keep it from getting infected he’ll be fine. And . . . well . . . no intercourse.”

No intercourse. That one’s not a problem. He’ll stand here and beat them all off with a stick if he has to. “Thank you for taking care of him. When I walked in and saw him on the floor I didn’t know what to do. I’ve not much of a head for crisis, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my job, sir. Taking care of Liam, that is.”

Seth walks over to Liam and gives him a fond look. His voice goes soft when he says, “He’s a good lad, Liam is. Never complains. He’ll be smiling again in a few days, you’ll see. A good lad.”

“How long have you been taking care of him?”

“Two years now. A few months at a time. There’s another caretaker and we rotate.”

“That’s a long time, Seth.”

“It is.” Then softer, “Too long.”

“You care for him, don’t you?” Louis asks. It’s obvious he does, a parental affection, Louis thinks. 

Then, as if he’d said too much, Seth straightens, and his voice hardens. “He’s my charge, sir.”

Only Louis isn’t buying that for a minute. It warms him to know that Seth cares about Liam, that he at least has that in his life. 

“How does it work? With the key and you being allowed to touch him?” he wonders.

“The key is only for your family and those gifted it. I only touch him when he needs medical attention or something similar. Like tonight.”

“So not even a hug? A handshake?”

“No, sir. It’s not allowed. And I would never . . .”

“That’s fine, I believe you,” Louis says quickly. He turns to Liam. “How lonely that must be for him,” he muses sadly.

“Yes, I suppose it must be.” Seth clears his throat. “We should let him sleep. I can check on him in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that. But I’ll be staying with him til then. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“You don’t have to, sir,” Seth says, sounding a bit scandalized. 

“I want to. But listen, I need you to stay here with him for a bit longer before you go.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. Because I need to go find my brother and kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this story and giving kudos and leaving comments. I absolutely LIVE for comments so you know . . . if you feel generous, I would love to hear from you :)


	8. Chapter 8

He goes stalking down to the wing with the bedrooms until he reaches his brother’s. It’s the anger that’s fueling him. Without it he’s fairly sure he’d collapse in a useless, trembling heap. With it he is single-minded and invincible. With it he feels as if he can incinerate everything around him with a single touch. He knocks on the door with the side of his fist before trying the door. It’s not locked. Perfect. He slams it open and flicks on the light switch on the wall. 

His brother is already in bed, limbs akimbo and snoring. 

How fucking lovely, Louis thinks. You spend a couple of hours torturing someone and you get to sleep comfortably. 

Well fuck that.

He goes to the side of the bed and slaps his brother hard across the back of the head. “Get the fuck up!” 

His brother snorts and snuffles and blinks his eyes open. “Wha . . .?”

“I said, get the fuck up!” And with that he takes hold of Roger’s arm, drags him out of bed and tosses him bodily on the floor.

“What the hell?” Roger rubs at his head then looks around in a daze. “What the hell?” he asks, sounding more confused than angry. He catches sight of Louis and begins to put it together. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Roger snarls. He stands up, using the nightstand to steady himself. He sways on his feet, still drunk, but aware.

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Louis advances on him, hands balling into fists at his side. Really? You piece of . . .”

Louis doesn’t finish. He’s done talking and the visceral hatred that he feels at looking at his brother’s face is suffocating. He swings out his fist and connects solidly with his brother’s jaw. It fucking hurts, and he hisses with the pain of it, but it’s worth it, to see his brother fall backward, sprawled back out on the floor.

“What is wrong with you, Lou?” Roger is holding a hand to his injured jaw, his voice muffled.

“That is a person up there! His name is Liam and he is a person! He is not a toy or a punching bag. You hurt him. Do you understand, Roger? You really hurt him.”

“The slut?” Roger sneers. “That’s what this is about?”

“Don’t call him that again. Don’t you ever.”

“Slag then? Or whore? Is that better for you?”

“I swear to god, Roger, I will punch all those teeth out of your mouth.”

Roger staggers up, swaying and looking angry, and Louis briefly thinks ‘this is it, my brother and I fight to the death’, and he’s ready for it, more ready than he’s ever been for anything.

It’s at just that moment that their father comes barreling through the door, their mother and sister in tow. 

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Richard yells. He goes to stand in between them, hands out to both of them as a warning to stand down. 

“And you!” Louis says, turning on his father, his anger still too bright and hot to be contained. “You said he doesn’t get hurt. You said not more than the game allows. Well, guess what? You lied, father. He’s hurt. And prodigal son over there is the one who did it.”

“Who’s hurt?” Violet asks. Her eyes are wide and excited as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “What did dad lie about?”

“Not now, Violet,” Richard says. He turns to Roger. “Is this true?”

Roger shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He looks absolutely disgusted, not an ounce of shame or regret to be found anywhere on him.

“Roger, is this true?” Richard presses.

“Fine!” Roger shouts. “Alright look, things might have gotten a little out of hand but he’s not permanently injured or anything. Shit.”

Richard turns back to Louis. “Does he need a doctor?”

“Seth says no. But he won’t be able to move for at least a couple days. And no intercourse either.”

“Oh my god, mum, who are we talking about?” Violet asks. She is beside herself with curiosity and Louis supposes he can’t blame her. He’d be the same if their roles were reversed.

His mother pulls Violet toward her and pointedly looks at her husband. “Can you handle this, Richard?”

“Of course I can, Viola.”

“Then I’ll take Violet back to bed.”

“No, I want to stay! What did Roger do?”

But Louis’ mother is having none of that. With one last, stern look aimed at her husband, she slowly but steadily pulls Violet out of the room, ignoring her protests the entire way. This just leaves the Tomlinson men, all of them staring at each other as if this were a standoff.

“Roger . . .” Richard begins. 

“What, fine, I’m sorry.”

“You need to apologize to Liam,” Louis says.

“I am not apologizing to a slave.”

“He’s not apologizing to a slave, Louis. No matter how special that slave may be.” He turns to Roger. “But you will be more careful with him. I will not have him damaged, do you hear me?”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Is that all you’re going to say to him?” Louis asks, incredulous. “That’s it? Slap his hand and off you go?”

“Enough, Louis. I’ll speak with your brother tomorrow. For now, let’s go upstairs. I want to see Liam.”

Louis isn’t going to keep arguing. Not now that the anger’s receded and all he’s got to show for it is an aching hand and a weariness that he can feel deep in his bones. Punching Roger had felt good for that brief moment but it hadn’t changed anything. Roger’s still an arse and Liam is still lying upstairs hurt. 

He turns and begins the trek to Liam’s room, not even really caring if his father is behind him or not. 

Back in the room, Richard speaks with Seth while Louis goes straight to Liam. Liam’s lips are parted and his breathing is deep and even. He is youth and innocence in sleep; things he loses when he’s awake and aware. Louis touches the back of Liam’s head, his fingers sliding through the longer strands at the top and down to the nape of his neck where it’s shorter. Liam shifts as a small contented sigh escapes him. 

“You like this, huh?” Louis whispers, the words only for the two of them, even if one of them can’t hear them right now.

Louis’ father finishes talking with Seth and dismisses him, then walks over to the edge of the bed. His eyes scan the damage done by Roger. Louis is pleased that he at least appears disturbed by what he sees.

“Oh, Liam,” his father says with a sigh. His hand can’t seem to find a good place to settle. As Louis already knows, there is really no place that is unmarked. He settles for brushing his thumb against Liam’s full lips, an intimate gesture that Louis wishes he could unsee. 

After a few moments, Louis’ father straightens. “I will speak with Roger, Louis. Despite what you might believe, I do not approve of this.”

Louis swallows down a retort that would have been biting and sarcastic. He’s altogether knackered and just wants his father to go so he can sleep. He nods. “I know, dad. I know. Thank you.”

He’s proud of himself and how sincere he sounded. His dad seems to buy into it as well. He says goodnight, says that they’ll talk in the morning, and takes his leave. He barely even questions the fact that Louis is staying. 

Louis shuts the door behind him and collapses against it with a sigh of relief. He can barely keep his eyes open anymore. Now it’s just him and Liam and the prospect of sleep.

Louis looks at the bed longingly before shutting off the lights and stumbling over to the sofa. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, it feels like only minutes but it could have been hours, when the sounds of pained whimpering wake him. 

He sits up, rubbing at his eyes as he tries to make them adjust to the darkness. Luckily there is moonlight flooding in through the window and it doesn’t take long before the night landscape of the room isn’t a stranger.

He goes to Liam, crawling up on the bed and holding his hand and urging him to wake. Liam does at last, eyes opening wide and body stiffening as he tries to pull away from what must seem an unfamiliar touch. 

“Liam, hey. It’s ok. It’s just a dream.”

“Louis . . .” 

That’s all Liam manages to gasp before he’s pulling Louis closer, clutching tight to Louis’ hand. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m here.”

Liam wipes at his face with his free hand and holds on even tighter. “It hurts. I need . . .”

“Your pill, yes?” Louis asks. He glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s been a little more than four hours since Liam had his shot. Good enough. 

He shakes out a pill from the bottle and some water from Liam’s mini fridge. Then he helps Liam to sit up enough to swallow it. He very pointedly avoids looking at Liam below the waist, something that’s hard to do when you’ve got a fit, naked boy in your arms. Someone really should give him a medal for that alone. Or, fuck the medal, he deserves to get knighted

“Thank you,” Liam says as he slides back down on his stomach. 

“You’re welcome. Do you want the covers over you?”

“Yes, please,” Liam answers. 

Louis pulls them up and carefully places them over Liam’s body. “There. Now just try and get some sleep, ok?”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Liam says, blinking up at Louis as if trying to determine if he’s an illusion or real.

Louis gives him a fond smile. “Of course I am. I’m watching over you. Now sleep, Liam. I’m going to go back to the sofa. But I’m right there if you need me.”

“You don’t have to . . . I mean . . . you can sleep here.” Liam’s grip is surprisingly strong, keeping Louis anchored to his side. 

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d want . . . I don’t know . . .”

“No, I don’t,” Liam says quickly. “Really. I’d like you to stay. Please.” Then he pauses, as if reconsidering, and his grip loosens before disappearing altogether. “Unless you don’t want to, Louis. I understand . . . if you don’t.”

It takes Louis all of two seconds to slide onto the bed and snuggle in close to Liam. “Here’s your answer,” he says.

They hold hands, an instantaneous thing that feels as natural and locking two puzzle pieces together. Louis’ other hand makes its way to Liam’s hair and he scritches at it tenderly, knowing that it distracts the other boy from the pain. After a moment they both close their eyes as they find their way to an uneasy sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis spends the entire next day with Liam in his room. Louis’ father visits them once and by Seth several times. Seth checks on Liam’s injuries and pronounces that he’s doing well. He also brings them their meals. Liam doesn’t have much of an appetite but he tries, mostly because both Seth and Louis urge him to eat. Liam sleeps a great deal, something that Louis is grateful for, knowing that it’s a reprieve from the pain. 

When he’s awake, Louis helps him to move onto his side and proposes watching a film. 

“Yeah, a film would be good, Louis,” Liam says. 

“What do you want to watch?” Louis walks to the television and starts looking through Liam’s collection of dvd’s. 

“Whatever you do is fine.”

“Oh no, Liam,” he says, a mock sternness in his voice. “This is your choice. Whatever you want.”

“Batman, then?” Liam smiles, looking sheepish. “It’s my comfort movie.”

Louis pops the dvd in and comes back to the bed, settling in next to Liam and closest to the telly. He sits upright against the headboard so that he doesn’t block Liam’s view, his hand automatically going to rest lightly against the back of Liam’s head. 

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah. I like that. Feels good.”

By the middle of the movie, Liam’s moved so that his head rests atop Louis’ thigh, his arm thrown carelessly over his legs.

Ten minutes after that, Liam is asleep and snoring softly.

Louis spends the rest of the movie watching Liam sleep.

Much later, near the end of the day, they decide on watching another film. This time, Liam chooses Notting Hill.

“Really? Romantic comedy, Liam?” Louis teases. When he goes to get the dvd, he sees that Liam actually has quite a few romantic comedies. That and a lot of superhero movies. Louis finds it ridiculously endearing. 

“I like them. I like thinking that things like that actually happens.”

“A romantic at heart, then?” Louis asks. 

Liam shakes his head and smiles. “I have a theory, see.”

“Oh, do tell,” Louis says. 

“It’s that everybody secretly loves romantic comedies, even men. Just that most aren’t man enough to admit it.”

Louis laughs. “Oh really? That’s your way to get me to watch it, is it? Challenge my manhood?”

Liam gives a small shrug, his smile still showing he’s clearly teasing. “It’s just a theory.”

“Alright, let’s test out this theory. Notting Hill it is,” he says, holding it up with a flourish. He places the dvd in the player and settles back on the bed. This time Liam settles his head on Louis’ lap right away, which feels sort of perfect. Near the end of the film it comes time for Liam to take another pill. Afterward, they settle back down to finish watching it.

“I wish it could be like this all the time,” Liam says after a few minutes, voice already foggy with sleep. “You, here with me.”

Startled, Louis looks down to see that Liam’s eyes are slipping closed, his breathing deepening. He’ll be asleep within minutes. 

Louis shushes Liam, tells him to rest and to let go. Liam does, always so obedient and sweet. Louis waits until Liam’s fully under before extricating himself from the bed. He maneuvers Liam back onto his stomach and pulls the covers up until Liam looks cozy and warm. Then he stands there, quietly having a panic attack. 

Such a silly thing to have one small sentence affect so much. 

But that one small sentence is allowing doubt to creep into Louis’ mind. It’s like having a seed planted deep inside his brain, already growing roots, digging deep and poisoning anything that it touches.

Liam trusts him. Trusts him with an innocence and faith that Louis can’t comprehend. It’s more than troubling; it’s terrifying. Louis doesn’t do trust. He doesn’t do relationships and connections. 

Louis’ life is about seeing how much he can get without giving anything in return. He’s about party boys and party girls and shallow friendships and walls and borders.

He simply does not know what to do about a beautiful boy that he wants to hold in his arms and kiss and laugh with. He doesn’t know what to do with a beautiful boy who’s been hurt so often and damaged so badly and yet still trusts him implicitly.

So he does the one thing that he does every time he’s confronted with something that he feels is beyond him. The thing he does every single time he comes across something that might finally be good, be a challenge, make him happy, be worth it. 

Louis runs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this happened just as I was posting . . . 
> 
> Liam: Ahem! 
> 
> Me: Liam, hi! 
> 
> Liam: Really? Really? You're going to 'Liam, hi' me after what you're doing here?
> 
> Me: I'm just posting my new chapter . . . Is there a problem?
> 
> Liam: Problem? No problem. It's just that your first foray into fanfic in this fandom happens to be this? Slave fic? Really?
> 
> Me: First of all . . . that was a lot of f's, Liam. And second of all . . . I'm kind of known for my slave fic. It's my thing. 
> 
> Liam: Your thing? You couldn't have gone with a nice coffee house AU? People love those.
> 
> Me: Coffee house? Mmm . . . no . . . 
> 
> Liam: Or a nice bakery AU? Hello . . . Harry? Bread? Fluff and sweetness? 
> 
> Me: Not really my thing, Liam. 
> 
> Liam: X-Factor shenanigans?
> 
> Me: I think I know what the problem is. You don't like being the slave.
> 
> Liam (pouts): I just don't see why you had to make me the slave. Really?
> 
> Me: But see, the thing is, I always hurt my favorite. So really, you should be flattered. I love you. And your precious little birthmark.
> 
> Liam: You could show me love by making me a firefighter! Or a boxer! I actually know how to box, you know. Not so much fight fires but I wing it. 
> 
> Me (pretends to think): Hmm . . . maybe next time?
> 
> Liam: Really? Because that whole flogging thing really hurt. Didn't like that.
> 
> Me: No, not really. Gonna keep hurting you. But I love you!
> 
> Liam: Oh.
> 
> Me: Now why don't you go rest up? You're back in the next chapter.
> 
> Liam: Bollocks.

Louis heads back to London and throws himself headlong into the rhythms of his old life, except to the nth degree. There’s a different party or a different club almost every night and he’s drunk more often than he’s sober. 

Every time he thinks about Liam a wave of guilt washes over him and an ache that he doesn’t quite recognize assaults him. He tries to tell himself that he did nothing wrong and that there’s no reason to feel badly about leaving. After all, the rest of the family had gone two days later, it’s not as if his father or Roger are there to continue to hurt or harass Liam. 

This is what he tries to tell himself. He doesn’t quite believe it though. So he drinks more and he parties harder and he tries very hard to believe his own lies. 

Besides, he thinks, he can’t be what Liam needs anyway. Liam needs somebody strong and committed and patient and brave. Louis is none of those things. He might have been, once upon a time, but he isn’t now and he hasn’t been for ages. 

So he takes another drink and he tries to ignore his friend, Harry, who for some reason is staring at him intently with those creepy cat eyes of his and looking far too serious for his liking.

“Are you even listening to me?” Harry asks. 

“Yes, fine. What?” Louis asks. “I thought we came here for drinks, not to talk.”

Harry laughs. “We can do both, mate. It’s been known to happen.”

Harry has an easy laugh about him and a way of talking that’s like slow, sweet molasses. Louis has always liked him, they’ve been mates since back in secondary school, but they’ve never really talked in the way that Louis senses Harry wants to talk now. But he gives in because it’s Harry and he loves Harry really and who wouldn’t want to listen to that voice?

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I want you to tell me what happened to you at your country house. Because I have to be honest, mate, you have not been the same since you got back.”

Louis holds up his drink. “Excuse me. This is normal.”

“No,” Harry says pointedly. “This isn’t. You’ve been drinking like you don’t want to live, Lou. I mean, you’re in some kind of shame spiral that you’re not even enjoying.”

“What makes you say that?” 

Harry points to the other side of the room. They’re in a high-class lounge, not a club, and they can actually hear each other talk. Harry had chosen this place, which Louis is now beginning to suspect is part of some intervention scheme. “That bird right there, the blonde you were chatting up earlier . . . you could go home with her right now but you’re not.”

Louis shakes his head, trying to come up with a reasonable answer for that one. “Well . . .” 

“And that bloke from earlier? He obviously fancied you. You could be at it right now. But you’re not.”

“Well . . .”

“In fact, this entire three weeks that you’ve been back, you haven’t been with anyone, have you? You haven’t been with anyone, you’re drinking ‘til you’re sick and you’re not actually having any fun.”

Louis feels like he’s being grilled under a spotlight. He throws up the hand currently not holding his drink in surrender. “Alright, yes! Yes. Something happened. But it’s so beyond that . . . I’m not sure how to even begin.”

“Just, you know, begin at the beginning.” 

And of course when Harry says it, it sounds easy because everything Harry says sounds easy. Louis sometimes wonders if he isn’t secretly a hypnotist. He takes a deep breath and thinks about the beginning and how to find it. Then he remembers his father’s words to him, the ones that started him down this path.

He takes another deep breath and says, “Have you ever heard of a key?”

“Like to open a door?” Harry asks. 

Louis tilts his head and smirks. “Sort of.”

Half an hour later, the story is out in the open and Harry has them drinking waters so they can discuss things with clearer heads.

“Let me get this straight. I’ve got to get it right in my head. There’s a sex slave in that house, specifically there for that very reason only, and you didn’t fuck him?”

“I did not,” Louis states emphatically. 

“Why not?”

“Because I promised him I wouldn’t.”

“Hm . . . so you essentially screwed yourself out of getting screwed?”

Louis just rolls his eyes as Harry laughs at his own joke. “See what I did there? That was brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“Not that brilliant, Harry. No, not really, no.”

Harry sobers, clearing his throat as he brushes back his curly mane of hair. “Ok. Let’s get serious for a minute. Why did you say that? I mean, he’s good-looking, right?”

A vision of Liam instantly coalesces in Louis’ mind. “Yeah. Well fit. Beautiful, really. I mean, he’s got this amazing body and handsome face with these full lips and eyes that are so warm . . .”

“Warm eyes. Mm . . . ok . . .”

“Are you mocking me, Mr. Styles?” Louis asks. 

“I’m not, really. I’m listening. Ok, so he’s the new Becks. Why didn’t you do anything?”

Louis takes a moment to think about it, measuring his words with care. “It just didn’t feel right; forcing someone to sleep with me. I mean, I know he didn’t want to, even though he was good at pretending he did. And then later, when I talked to him a bit, and he was just so sweet and funny.” He pauses, remembering how Liam had admitted to hoping Louis would do something just to get it over with. “And so scared,” he adds softly. “And lonely. And I . . . I just couldn’t. I could never.”

“So then why did you leave?” Harry asks. There is no trace of laughter in his voice now, no trace of any amusement at all, only this intense, genuine interest that Louis wants to squirm away from. He doesn’t, merely takes another gulp of his water and meets it head on. “That’s the big question, innit?”

“No. The big question is why you’re here, getting pissed every night when you could be where you want to be.”

“ _This_ is where I want to be. You think I want to be with him?” Louis asks. Truth be told, he’s curious to hear the answer, perhaps a bit desperate to know it. He wants to see what Harry sees.

“I think you desperately want to be with him and I’m not really sure why you’re forcing yourself to be here if you’re not happy.”

“Bollocks,” Louis says, the denial coming quick and easy on his tongue.

“I think you’re absolutely gutted that you left him.”

At this Louis just shakes his head. Denial, river in Egypt, all that lot.

“And I’m also not exactly sure why you haven’t admitted to yourself that you fancy him. Really fancy him. Like hearts and flowers fancy.”

Louis leans forward, matching Harry’s intensity with his own. “Harry, even if I did . . . even if I did, which, I’m not saying I do. How would that even work? He’s a slave. No, he’s worse, he’s a sodding key, trapped in that room all the damn time. I have a life here. How would that even work?”

Harry shrugs and suddenly the intensity on his part is gone. He looks like a rich, young playboy, not the wise guru that he seemed to be just a moment ago. “Maybe you just . . . find a way.”

“I find a way? That’s your answer?”

“What? I can’t fix the whole mess for you. But you know, maybe the first part of finding a way is being honest with yourself, mate.”

“I hate being honest with myself,” Louis grumbles. 

“Yeah, it’s hard, innit?” 

For a brief moment, Louis is gripped by the urge to throw his glass against the wall and watch it shatter apart. He doesn’t of course, just clutches at it so tightly that his knuckles turn white and his hand begins to ache. 

“You’re a good friend, Harry. Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“You’re welcome. I’m really interested in how this is going to sort itself out, actually.”

Louis takes a large drink of water and wishes it were vodka. “Cheers to that, mate.”

Later that night, when he’s in bed by himself and more sober than he’s been in three weeks, Louis thinks about how life keeps surprising him lately. He’s been friends with Harry for years and that was the deepest conversation they’d ever had. Here he thought all his friendships were about as shallow as a puddle and yet Harry had been a source of strength and guidance tonight. 

He thinks about a beautiful boy hidden away in a terrible cell and he thinks about fairy tales and brave knights and happy endings. 

He thinks about himself and how he ran away from that beautiful boy and how he didn’t run far enough; how there never would have been a far enough. 

He thinks about watching Batman as a comfort movie and sharing wine and staring out a moonlit window. 

He thinks about what Harry said, about finding a way. He had told Harry that Liam had been scared but in reality, Liam is the bravest person he’s ever met. Louis is the one who was scared, and who continues to be. 

He thinks about the kind of man he is and the kind of man his father wants him to be, and how maybe the kind of man _he_ wants to be is somewhere in the middle.

So many thoughts . . . too many, really. They keep him up all night, a constant ebb and flow in his mind that never seems to end.

He somehow manages a few hours of sleep just as the sun comes up. Despite not getting much rest, he feels clear-headed when he wakes. He phones his father at his office as soon as he’s able.

“Louis, this is a surprise,” his father says. 

Louis can practically taste the disapproval over the line. He chooses to ignore it.

“Dad, listen . . . I um . . . I need the key. I’d like to have it again, if I could.”

“Of course you can, Louis. It’s your right as a Tomlinson.”

“Good. Thank you. Um . . . how does that work? What do I do?”

“When do you wish to go?”

“Tomorrow. I’d like to be there tomorrow night. For more than one day?”

“That’s fine. I’ll alert Seth.”

“Thank you, dad,” he says and his gratitude is genuine. He rings off, smiling a true smile for the first time in three weeks. 

He’s not really sure what he’ll find when he sees Liam again. Liam will be angry, he expects. He might not want him there. It probably won’t be easy. And to be fair, he’s not exactly sure what he’s going to do or say. 

He just knows this; from now on, there’s no more running.


	10. Chapter 10

Liam’s stomach is in knots, his heart twisting in his chest every so often and his mind full of racing thoughts. He hasn’t been this nervous since he lost his virginity to his first master, back when he’d been a thirteen year old kid who didn’t truly understand what his life was becoming. 

He’s twenty now and thirteen feels like a lifetime ago, a hundred lifetimes ago. He didn’t think he had it in him to be this nervous, not with everything he’s seen and done, and yet here he is, feeling like he’s going to come apart because Louis is coming back. 

Seth had given him the heads up yesterday and Liam’s been like this ever since, worse now because Louis could be here at any minute. Liam paces the length of the room furiously before stopping at the window, wishing desperately he had a view of the front of the house instead of the back. Is Louis is even here yet? Is he running behind? 

Perhaps he’s not coming at all. 

He leans his forehead against the pane of glass and looks to the left. It’s dusk and he can just barely make out the caretaker’s cottage where Seth stays. He’s tempted to call Seth again and ask for another update but he manages to tamp down and control that urge. He knows that Seth will tell him when Louis’ here. 

So he closes his eyes and tries to still himself and he waits, but his thoughts will not slow and after a while he gives up and gives in to them.

Three weeks ago, when he’d woken up without Louis next to him, he hadn’t given it much thought. He’d figured that Louis had things to do, or that he’d want to sleep in his own bed. 

But then later in the day, Seth had told him that Louis had left. His first reaction had been one of confusion coupled with a hopeful expectancy. Surely Louis wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Surely. He would come back with an explanation and a smile and he would be there for Liam. 

Surely. 

But then a day passed and then two and still no Louis. And then the rest of the family had left and still no Louis. 

And yet Liam had waited, asking Seth constantly if he knew anything, but Seth never did. 

It was more than a week later when Liam finally admitted to himself that Louis wasn’t coming back. 

He was left with an emptiness inside, a deep sadness that for a brief moment turned into anger; anger at Louis for leaving him without a word. 

He put a stop to that soon enough, turning the anger inward. After all, it had been his own fault. What had he been thinking? Louis had been kind to him and that should have been enough. That would have to be enough. Louis was young and rich and beautiful and vibrant. He had a life in London surrounded by people that were undoubtedly just as amazing as he was. Liam had nothing in comparison, _was_ nothing in comparison. The most that could be said about him was that he was a bed slave that some people found pretty. 

He had nothing to give and nothing to offer except his body and Louis had made it clear that he didn’t want even that. 

And despite all this, like a fool, he had allowed himself to believe that there was something there; that the possibility of some kind of happiness existed for him. 

So in the end, all Liam could do was mourn the loss of something that had never really existed, go back to his old life and try and decide if he wanted to forget Louis or if he wanted to hold onto the memory of him. It was a toss-up as to which one hurt more.

And then just yesterday, the decision was made for him when Seth called to tell him that Louis would be coming back to see him the next night. 

And he had been in a state of turmoil ever since.

Liam blinks hard and opens his eyes; the nervous energy that’s thrumming through him won’t allow him to stay still for too long. He steps away from the window and resumes his pacing. When the phone finally rings, it startles him so badly he jumps nearly a foot in the air. 

He rushes to answer it. “He’s here?” he asks. 

“He is. I think he’ll be up there shortly. He seemed very eager, he did,” Seth says. 

Liam thanks him and rings off. He stands there uncertainly, pulse racing, not sure what to do. Now that it’s well and truly happening, he’s at a loss. Does he get naked for Louis? Louis had said he wouldn’t take more than Liam wanted to give but what if he had changed his mind? Or lied? Right now he’s dressed in jeans and a Henley . . . is that good enough? He doesn’t know and he can’t even begin to guess. He walks toward the bed, then stops and reconsiders and walks back toward the window, hesitating somewhere in the middle.

He can hear the key turning in the lock, a sound as familiar to him as the sound of his own breathing. He freezes, a deer caught in headlights, feeling faint and helpless and trapped. 

The door opens and Louis steps inside, his eyes searching. He looks thinner than he did last time they were together. And tired too, like he’s just absolutely knackered. 

Liam finds him beautiful. 

Louis smiles an uncertain, nervous smile. “Liam.”

Liam nods jerkily, gives an aborted bow and says, “Sir.”

He hadn’t meant to be hurtful with it, it was just the first thing that popped into his mind to say, but it still makes Louis cringe and Liam has to admit that he gets a strange thrill from it. It feels like power, and he relishes it for a moment, because he has so very little of it.

“I hate when you call me that,” Louis says softly. 

“I . . . I’m sorry.”

Louis steps into the room proper, walking toward Liam. He doesn’t stop until they’re stood only an arm’s length apart. “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry.”

Liam is uncertain and frightened and his hands twist together uselessly in front of him. He wants to back away but he forces himself to hold his ground, forces his gaze to meet Louis’. 

“Liam,” Louis says, whisper-soft, his voice so fond and kind. He touches Liam’s face, cupping his cheek gently. “I’ve missed this face. I’ve missed you.”

“I . . .” That’s all Liam’s able to get out before his voice quits on him. He blushes, biting at his bottom lip, feeling stupidly grateful that Louis’ touching him.

“How are you? How’s your back? “Your injuries?”

Liam clears his throat, searches for his voice; finds it. “Better. I’m better now.”

“Can I see?”

Liam responds automatically, a question like that is still an order from his master no matter how kindly it is stated. He makes to pull his shirt over his head but Louis stills his hands. 

“It’s ok, I won’t hurt you,” Louis says before walking behind Liam. 

_You already have_

Liam thinks it, though he would never say it. He would rather die than say it.

Louis lifts Liam’s shirt up, just high enough to see. Liam can hear him hiss as he takes in the sight of the still fading bruises. He knows what he looks like back there, he’s seen himself in the mirror and he’s quite aware that the mottled greens and yellows are not pretty.

Louis lowers the shirt back down and steps in front of Liam once more. He looks shaken and upset. “Does it hurt?”

Liam shakes his head. “Only if you press on them.”

Louis nods and winces as if he’s the one who’s hurt. He looks around the room and says, “Can we talk? Can we sit?”

Liam indicates the bed. “Here?”

Louis gives a quick, violent shake of his head. “The window?”

“Yeah, ok.”

They settle there, sitting cross-legged across from each other and it all feels so achingly familiar and yet so different at the same time. Three weeks ago, he would have reached across their small divide and grasped Louis’ hand without hesitation. Now, he doesn’t know what to do or say or what’s expected. 

Louis isn’t much better. He fidgets, rubbing at his face with his hand, his gaze dropping away from Liam’s before finding it then losing it again. “Just bear with me a moment, Liam,” he says. “I’m rubbish at this sort of thing.”

Liam can only nod and wait. He’s been waiting for three weeks, what are a few moments more?

“I want you to understand what happened and why I ran away,” Louis says at last.

“Ok.” Liam brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them in tight. It’s his only protection right now from whatever Louis’ about to say.

“Ok.” Louis takes a deep breath and leans forward, serious and intent. “The thing is, Liam, I’ve spent most of my life not letting myself get close to anything or anyone, either pushing them away or running away if they got too close. I mean, friends, lovers, jobs, family, the lot. I . . . I thought I was doing it because I was being dangerous and rebellious or some stupid shit like that. But I’ve come to realize that I was doing it because I was scared. Scared, I guess, of being hurt. Because if you don’t allow yourself to care about anything, and if nothing really matters, then things won’t disappoint you and you can’t get hurt.

And then you came along and . . . you made me want to be around you. You made me want to talk for hours and watch romance films and get stupid drunk on wine. You made me want to care. You _made_ me care.” Louis pauses to smile and take a breath. “You’re so special, Liam.”

“I’m not. Not special, Louis. I’m just a slave.”

“Being a slave has nothing to do with the kind of person you are. You’re still beautiful and funny and sweet and brave and kind.”

“Then why did you leave?” Liam asks. There’s a bite to his voice now; part anger and part desperation. “You didn’t even say goodbye. You were just gone.”

“Because I’m an idiot,” Louis says with a shake of his head. “It scared me that you needed me. It scared me when you said you wanted things to be like that always.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Liam says, and just like that the anger and desperation are leeched from him. Now he is only upset with himself. “I crossed so many lines when I said that.”

“No, Liam, not you. When did I ever let you think you couldn’t be honest with me? You were fine to say it. I was an idiot because I let it drive me away. God, if only you could see how miserable I was without you. Such a bloody idiot and I didn’t even realize for so long.” 

“I don’t know what you want from me, Louis,” Liam says. He feels so confused. He’s trying to understand, to grasp the threads of what Louis is saying but it’s so very hard. “I’m so sorry but I just don’t know what you want.”

Louis takes Liam’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. His hand shakes and he looks uncertain as he stutters through his next words like a nervous child. “Well, for starters . . . I’m hoping you can forgive me.”

“Louis, you don’t owe me anything. Not an explanation, not an apology, not anything.”

“Of course I do, Liam.”

“No,” he says, surprising both of them with his vehemence. “You _own_ me, Louis. Special, not special, I’m just a slave. I’m your key.” He shakes his head sadly. “I’m the one who got caught up in things like an idiot. You were just being kind and I took it too far. You don’t owe me anything at all.”

“No, darling, stop. Listen to me. You’re not just a slave. You’re Liam.” Louis smiles, and it is a very kind smile but also so very sad. “And I really, really like Liam. And I left you when you needed me. And I’m so very, very sorry. And I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure all this out and come back. I’m asking you to forgive me. And this isn’t Master Louis asking his slave for something. This is Louis asking Liam.” Louis waits a beat, his voice now wrecked and aching. “Please forgive me.”

Liam gives a tentative half-nod, biting his lip as he does. He can feel the unfamiliar sting of tears at his eyes. He doesn’t cry; he hasn’t cried in so long. He’s afraid if he starts, he won’t be able to stop. 

“Will you give me another chance? Please?” Louis asks.

Oh no, see, that wasn’t fair. The tide of emotion that Liam has just barely been able to hold back swells at those words. He sags forward with it, completely at its mercy, and he’s smiling and he thinks he’s crying too but he can’t really seem to care.

“You do? You forgive me?” Louis asks. “You’ll give me another chance?”

He lifts his head and nods, managing to croak out, “You had me at hello.” He hopes that Louis understands because he’s completely incapable of anything more at this moment.

And somehow, Louis does. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around Liam and holding him close, rocking them both together. Liam can feel Louis’ lips against his ear when he whispers, “You complete me.”

Liam giggles, a welcome reprieve from the tears that slide down his face. It’s Tom Cruise’s line in the film and Louis doesn’t mean it like Jerry Maguire did, but that’s alright because the meaning it does hold is even better. He can hear Louis giggling too, can feel the vibrations of Louis’ laughter against his chest. “Thank you. Oh god, thank you. You don’t know . . . you have no idea . . . going to make it up to you. Won’t ever hurt you again . . .”

They sit like this for what feels like hours, both of them clinging to the other, both of them smiling and wiping away tears and letting the first tendrils of healing touch their wounds. Liam would be perfectly fine to never let go, but his body eventually protests when his back begins to ache. 

He lifts away from Louis, leaving their hands still entwined. He doesn’t believe that he’s special or that Louis needed any absolution but he’ll keep those things to himself for the time being. Right now he’s just so, so happy to have Louis here with him and he’s going to try his damnedest not to muck it up this time. He’s perfectly alright with it being temporary and he doesn’t care if that makes him needy and pathetic because right now he _feels_ a bit needy and pathetic. He also feels wanted and safe, two words that, when put together, amount to the best feeling in the world. 

He rubs at his nose, sniffling a bit and asks, “So, now what?”

“I’m not really sure, Li. But you’re stuck with me for a few days, and I reckon we can figure it out together if that’s ok with you.”

The use of the nickname sort of makes Liam want to start crying all over again. He squeezes Louis’ hand instead, pleased when Louis squeezes back. 

“More than.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this story and giving kudos and leaving comments. I absolutely LIVE for comments so you know . . . if you feel generous, I would love to hear from you :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you following this story... this chapter was a bitch! Damn! I think it's because it doesn't have a clear narrative. It meanders like mad - you'll see. But it's here! Finally! I'm gonna go rest. lol

Louis spends three days with Liam. Three sweet, wonderful days where they grow closer as they continue to learn each other. 

They don’t do anything more than hold hands, just as Louis had promised, and at the end of the three days, Louis hugs Liam to him, breathing in his scent as Liam clutches back tightly. 

“You promise you’ll come back?” Liam asks. He does not let go.

“As soon as I can,” Louis says, his lips moving against the skin of Liam’s throat. How could he not return? He’s not ready to walk away from this man yet. The way he feels right now, he might not ever be ready to. “Two weeks at the most. Can’t have dad getting alerted to my actually liking you.”

Liam manages a laugh as he pulls away, even if it is a bit melancholy. “Ok . . . two weeks, then.” He worries at his bottom lip, eyes young and vulnerable. “Are you sure, though? Do you promise?”

Louis can’t blame him for not trusting him. If their situations were reversed he’d feel the same way. “I promise,” he says, placing as much meaning and truth behind the vow as he can. After all, words can prove false, but intent is true.

Liam smiles again, a real one this time. He looks relieved, though still uncertain, as if he’s scared to place his faith in what he hears.

Louis can’t wait to prove all of Liam’s fears wrong.

When Louis gets back to London, he feels lighter and happier than he has in a long time. He calls up some of his old contacts in the music industry, people he’d connected with during his failed singer phase. Even when he’d been trying to make records, he’d been intrigued by the production process, almost as much as the actual singing. This seems to be the perfect time to really delve into it. 

His money and his name basically insure that people are going to help him out, a fact that he especially appreciates now. He’s been coasting on the Tomlinson name for as along as he can remember, it’s about time he did it for something that actually piques his interest. 

He’s only at it for a few days before he comes to the realization that he really likes it. And not only that, but that he’s good at it too. He has a knack for the production aspect of music and he picks it up quickly, soaking up knowledge and technique like a sponge. 

When he goes back to Liam about two weeks later, he spends an embarrassing amount of time going on about it. He tells him about Geoff, the producer that he’s been paired with and Zayn, the incredible talent whose album they’re working on.

Liam listens to every word in rapt attention, only occasionally asking a question when something isn’t clear to him. 

“God, you’re really smashing it out there, aren’t you?” he asks when Louis finally exhausts all of his stories. Liam’s enthusiasm matches and helps to buoy his own. 

“Yeah, you know what, I really think I am. For once, I feel like I’ve got this,” Louis says, his grin so wide it hurts.

“I’m thrilled for you, you know,” Liam says. 

“Yeah?” he asks rather breathlessly.

“Yeah. You found something you love to do. That’s ace, Louis. That’s got to feel like the best thing in the world.”

_No. The best thing in the world is sharing it with you_

The thought comes unbidden into his head and nearly makes it to his mouth and past his lips before he manages to stop it. Now is not the time for those kinds of sappy pronouncements. Instead he smiles and settles for a mild, “Yeah, it does.” 

They’re sat on the floor, facing each other, and Louis can’t help reaching out and giving Liam’s hair a quick tug. It’s a way of stopping himself from doing what he wants to do, which at this moment is to snog Liam senseless. “What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?” Liam asks.

“What would you want to do? If you could? What would make you happy?”

The smile disappears from Liam’s face, melting away like snow in the sun. “Oh, I don’t know, Louis. I haven’t thought about something like that in a long time.”

“Well, what did you want to be? When you did think about it?” Liam’s hesitation broadcasts his discomfort with the question. Louis quickly adds, “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.” He brushes his fingertips against Liam’s jaw, his nails scratching lightly across the stubble there. “Probably shouldn’t have asked, sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Liam answers with a sigh. Louis’ fairly sure that Liam would do whatever he asked of him, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He needs to remember not to ever take advantage of it. 

“It’s funny, actually,” Liam continues. “What you’re doing now. I used to want to be a singer.”

“Really? A singer?” Louis asks excitedly.

Liam nods. “I used to do it. In talent shows and school and such.”

“I bet you were brilliant at it,” Louis says. 

“No,” Liam chuckles as he blushes. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was alright.”

“Do you still do it? Sing, I mean.”

“Yeah. Do it all the time.”

“Really?”

“Well, just here,” Liam says, waving his hand to indicate the room. “Sing to records and stuff, that’s all.”

“Will you sing for _me_?” Louis asks. 

“No.” Liam looks horrified. “I’m rubbish at it now, I’m sure.”

“Please. Oh, pretty please!”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Come on! I’m full on pleading here. I’m on bended knee.”

“You’re not on bended knee. You’re sat on the floor.”

“In my mind, Liam! I’m on bended knee in my mind.”

Liam laughs, just as Louis had known he would, his eyes crinkling in the corners in that way that Louis likes so much. “Alright, fine. But . . . but you can’t laugh.”

“I won’t. I promise. Scout’s honor and all that.” Louis holds up his fingers in what he guesses might be a scout’s formation.

“You were never a scout, Louis but alright. Um . . . I’ll do Cry Me a River?”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“Ella Fitzgerald by way of Michael Buble. Unless . . . I can do something else?”

“No, that’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Louis claps excitedly and settles back in anticipation.

It takes Liam a few moments to compose himself enough to begin. Even then it’s a false start, but after blushing and clearing his throat, Liam tries again, finding the key nearly effortlessly the second time, and . . . oh. Just oh . . . 

Louis’ brain short-circuits; actual thoughts lost as it glitches due to the surprise of hearing Liam’s voice. Liam can sing. He can really sing. Louis hadn’t known what he was expecting but it hadn’t been this. Not this strong, clear voice that finds and caresses every note as if the song were made for him. 

Liam sings the first verse, nearly flawlessly, then stops. He looks at Louis with trepidation.

“Don’t stop. Please,” Louis whispers. There’s no teasing to his voice now, just genuine want. He wants it to continue, he needs it to continue. 

Liam blushes but nods, then he simply picks up where he left off. 

Near the end, at the start of the final chorus, Louis joins in, providing harmony. His lighter, higher voice contrasts and compliments Liam’s perfectly.

They end it together, letting the final note linger before it fades from them both. They stare at each other for several breathless seconds.

“That was . . .” Louis finally begins. 

“Wow. That was . . . proper brilliant,” Liam finishes for him.

“Your voice. You’re amazing, Liam.” 

“No, we are! We smashed it, Louis! Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?”

“Eh, I do alright. I had a brief, very brief, mind, turn as a singer. Anyway, we’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you. Have you taken lessons?”

“No. My dad wouldn’t let me, would he? I just sing along with what I hear. Do the best I can with it.”

“Well, you do great. I wish you were out there in the real world. I’d kill to work with you.”

That earns him a small, sad smile. “Yeah, well,” Liam says as he shrugs. 

And that just won’t do at all. Louis hates it when Liam smiles like that. Only happy, eye-crinkling smiles should ever be given by Liam. Louis jumps up and holds out his hand, waiting for Liam to take it before pulling him up off the floor. 

“Let’s do another,” he says. “But this time, we’ll grab something and use it as a microphone. Get the full experience.”

Liam toes at the ground before shrugging and looking up at Louis. “I have microphones from Rock Band?”

“Brilliant! Let’s do it!”

It doesn’t take long before they’re both singing into microphones that don’t connect anywhere and pretending they’re popstars entertaining a crowd of thousands. It doesn’t once cross Louis’ mind that he’s being silly or immature. In fact his only true, coherent thought is that Liam is smiling and laughing again and how he never wants it to end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fourth time Louis comes to visit, he opens the door not realizing that Liam is stood right next to it, just behind his eye-line. He jumps at Liam’s shouted, “aha” and the feel of Liam’s fingers tickling at his stomach. 

It takes his brain half a second to catch on that Liam’s playing. It takes him another half a second to join in. 

“Oh really?” he says, grabbing Liam about the waist and pulling them both into the room. They overbalance and fall to the floor, both of them rolling over and over each other, laughing as they wrestle.

Liam is all sinew and muscle and could easily overpower Louis but he’s not really trying. It’s obvious he’s playing just to play. 

They roll to a stop with Louis straddling Liam, his hands wrapped around Liam’s wrists, pinning them to the floor next to Liam’s head. Liam is breathless and laughing, obviously having fun. Nevertheless, Louis lets go of his wrists, not wanting him to feel trapped or forced.

“So, you dare to start a tickle fight with the master, eh?”

Liam giggles and shakes his head. 

“No? Ambush me, will you? Now you shall pay for your folly,” he declares grandly. And then he digs his fingers into Liam’s ribs and begins to tickle with no mercy. 

Liam writhes and bucks and makes noises that could be considered screeches but not once does he actually move to get away. Once again, Louis is struck by the fact that Liam could easily overpower him and take control of the situation but he doesn’t. Louis guesses it’s down to his slave training, all the years of being told to be submissive. It must be instinct at this point to be docile.

“Mercy!” Liam shouts. “I give! I give!”

Louis relents, placing his hands on the floor to either side of Liam’s head. They’re both breathless and giddy and Liam is wiping tears from his eyes as he laughs. 

And even as Louis is smiling, he can’t help but wonder how often Liam got to play like this. It’s something that all boys do, even up through their teenage years, this type of roughhousing (though maybe not the tickling part, Louis admits), but that must have been cut short when he was sold into slavery. 

There’s a part of Liam’s soul that’s wizened and saddened far beyond his years, as if Liam has seen a lifetime’s worth of humanity’s ugliness and cruelty. And yet there’s a part of that same soul that’s child-like and innocent in how it reacts to the world. Louis’ drawn to those changing aspects of Liam, finds that he cannot look away, like turning a diamond in the sun to watch as it glitters or darkens as it moves.

He looks down at Liam, enjoying the content smile that lights up his face. And before Louis can do anything else, before he can come up with anything to say, Liam surges up and briefly kisses him on the mouth. 

It’s a soft kiss, quick, somewhere between chaste and teasing. Louis barely has time to register that it happened before Liam is wriggling out from under him and rising to his feet. 

“You win,” he says easily. He walks over to the couch where Louis follows a moment later. 

They turn in toward each other and Louis touches a hand to his own lips. “You kissed me,” he says, more in shock than anything else.

“I did. Was it alright? Should I not have?” Liam asks quickly, fear already scraping across his voice.

“No. I liked it. I really liked it.”

“Oh good,” Liam says. “Me too.” 

It was, in truth, barely a kiss, but considering that all they’ve done up until this point is talk and hold hands, it feels like a milestone. 

Louis curls his hand into a loose fist and brings it up to the side of Liam’s neck, letting his thumb slide back and forth along the slightly damp skin. 

It takes him a moment to see it; he’s still riding high from the idea that Liam just kissed him. But then his thumb swipes across it and suddenly it’s all he sees. 

It’s a bite mark, red and purple and ugly, the white imprints of teeth still visible.

“What is that?” he says, pulling away. 

“What?” Liam looks down, guesses at what Louis sees and shrugs. “Oh. It’s nothing. Your brother . . . he likes to bite.”

“My brother? He’s been here?”

“Well, yeah.” Liam says it like it should be obvious. And maybe it should have been. It’s something Louis doesn’t like to think about, something he had conveniently erased from his mind. But really, if he comes here, why wouldn’t Roger do the same?

“When?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Three days ago, maybe?”

“Did he hurt you?”

Liam shakes his head. 

Louis grabs Liam’s arm. “Liam, did he hurt you?” he asks again. He’s seeing red, so blinded by his worry for Liam and his anger at his brother that he doesn’t realize that he’s the one who’s hurting Liam.

“No. He didn’t.” Liam pulls his arms from Louis’ grasp, rubbing where Louis had clutched too tightly. “He just likes to bite.”

“Let me see the rest of it. There’s more, yeah?”

“Yes, but no.” Liam crosses his arms in front of his chest and turns partly away, curling into himself. “No.”

It’s the first time that Liam hasn’t done what Louis’ asked, the first time he’s refused him anything. It’s enough to penetrate his fog of rage. He blinks, leaning back as if awakening from a trance. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice, softening the tone. “I’m sorry. Darling, I’m sorry. You don’t have to. I’m just . . . I’m concerned. After what happened last time, I just worry.”

Liam chews at his lip, brow furrowed. He slowly turns back to Louis, opening his body back up. “I shouldn’t have said no. I’m the one who should be sorry, Louis.”

“No, Liam. I’m the overprotective idiot, alright?” 

“I like that you are,” Liam says. “I like that you care. And I want you to see. I want you to see that I’m ok.”

Louis nods. “Ok.” he says softly. 

He watches as Liam pulls off his t-shirt in one quick motion and clutches it in front of him. He stares up at the ceiling, baring his throat, unintentionally vulnerable as he waits to be inspected.

There are more bite marks sprinkled across Liam’s chest and down his torso, some as low as his hips and the promise of beyond. They look vivid and dark and aching. They look like they hurt, both now and when they were first pressed into Liam’s skin. 

“Put it back on,” Louis whispers, his voice tight. “It’s alright. I see.”

Liam hurries to comply, hugging his arms tight around his middle even once the shirt is one, as if he needs more protection than the fabric can provide.

“I hate the thought of him touching you,” Louis says. “If you only knew how much I want to kill him right now.”

“I know. And I really like that you want to protect me and keep me from it.” He gives a tremulous smile. “No one’s ever cared. But it is what it is.”

“But it shouldn’t be! It’s not right. I don’t know how you can stand it, Liam. I don’t know how you get through it.”

“Because it’s just my body, Louis. It’s not me.” He manages a small laugh, one completely devoid of mirth. “That’s what I tell myself, anyway. It usually works. But the truth is, I have no choice. It’s either that or go stark, raving mad. Although, to be fair, I’ve been close to that a couple of times.”

“Liam . . .”

“Can we not talk about him anymore?” It’s less a question and more a plea, made more heart wrenching by the look in Liam’s eyes. “I don’t want our time to be ruined by his . . . ghost or whatever.”

“Yes, of course. We’ll talk about something else. You name it Li, we’ll do it.”

“Could we . . . I might fancy a cuddle?”

Louis opens his arms immediately. “I think these arms are Liam-sized, yes?”

With a hasty nod, Liam launches himself into Louis’ arms, and Louis clasps them tight around him. It takes them a few moments to position themselves comfortably, with Liam snuggled up between Louis’ legs, his back to Louis’ chest. Louis’ arms do fit around Liam perfectly, like they’re just now learning their purpose. 

Louis rubs his nose against the side of Liam’s neck, nuzzling up into his short hair. “How’s this?” he asks. 

“You’re a good cuddler.” Liam leans back, tilting his head against Louis’ shoulder to smile up at him. It’s not an eye-crinkling smile but it’ll do. 

“World-class cuddler, in fact,” Louis says.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good. Though to be fair, I’ve not much to compare it to,” Liam says, clearly teasing.

“Why, Liam Payne!” Louis says, his voice affecting shock and hurt. “Just for that . . .”

And then Louis wages a tickle assault, not letting up until Liam is left gasping and sagging in his arms, his eyes bright with tears of laughter. 

That’s better, Louis thinks as he looks down at Liam with a fondness almost too painful to bear. But it doesn’t erase those horrid bites and it doesn’t erase the air of sadness that clings to Liam like a shroud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis isn’t exactly happy, but he’s close. He can feel himself on the precipice of it, as if happiness were a yawning chasm beneath a tall cliff and all he needs to do is tip himself over and he’ll go tumbling into it. So close, yet he’s frozen there in time, feet rooted to the ground. 

He loves the work that he’s doing with the record company. He’s stopped sleeping around with people that mean nothing to him. He’s hanging out with Harry more, and Harry’s introduced him to Niall, a fun-loving Irish lad that he met in the loo at a football match. They do things like go to footie matches and go bowling and drink at dodgy pubs. His picture hasn’t been in the tabloids in months. He no longer feels adrift and lost in his own life. And if he hasn’t completely found his path yet, he at least knows that he’s nearer than he’s ever been.

His time with Liam is the proverbial icing on the cake to it all. He loves spending time with Liam, loves talking with him and laughing with him, cuddling and singing with him. 

The only dark undercurrent is the stark, ugly fact that Liam is a slave. No matter how easily they talk to each other, no matter how much fun they have together, Liam is still trapped within those four walls, the use of his body open to his family’s whims. 

He wants to take Liam bicycle riding in the countryside. He wants to go to dinner with him and take him to the cinema. He wants to show him the sights of London and do ridiculously touristy things like ride the Eye and take him shopping in Leicester Square. 

He wants all of this and so much more. There are hundreds of things he wants to do. 

But most of all he wants Roger to stop fucking Liam. He wants his father to stop, and his mother to stop. He doesn’t want any of them touching Liam ever again. He wants Liam to have a choice.

He wants Liam to be happy. 

And he knows that that is the final step off of that precipice. He won’t be truly happy until Liam can be. 

But that feels like a far-away dream, a fantasy that can only be imagined and that can never come to life. So he continues on, picking up his mobile and dialing his father’s number every few weeks and asking for the key. 

He is not prepared for the day when his father says no.

“Why?” he asks, panicking. Maybe his father’s glommed onto the fact that he actually likes Liam and isn’t just using him. 

“I’m having a dinner party that weekend for some very important new clients. Liam will be providing some of the entertainment.”

“Oh. I see,” Louis says, his voice tight with the effort of keeping the disgust out of it. “Can I have it after you’re done?” he asks. He hates this, hates this more than anything. Talking about Liam as if he were a thing, talking about him being fucked by strangers as if there were nothing in the world wrong with it.

“The weekend after?” his father asks.

“No, next weekend doesn’t work for me. I was thinking the day after. Be interesting, wouldn’t it? Spice things up a bit.” It sickens him to say the words but somehow he manages to make them sound convincing. In truth, the last thing he wants to see is the aftermath of that but he needs to make sure that Liam hasn’t been hurt, and he needs to be there for him if he has been.

“Yes, I suppose that would be fine. Are you certain you’d want it so soon after the party? Liam’s sure to be exhausted. He’ll likely be well used.”

“Yes,” he says, nearly choking on the words. “And I think Liam can handle it just fine.”

“Then the key is yours. After, of course.”

Louis thanks him and rings off. He sets the phone down and hates himself for what he’s just said and what he’s doing and what he’ll continue to do. He punches the wall in frustration and a bitter feeling of helplessness. The scrape of his knuckles against the plaster and the sharp ache from his bones compacting do little to help him feel any more in control.

He sits down and cradles his hand and for a long moment he’s afraid he’ll be sick, that he’ll literally vomit all over the floor and his new shoes. 

Four days until the weekend. He’s not really sure how he’s going to find the patience to wait. He flexes his hand, savoring the pain, and thinks, as he so often does, about Liam.


	12. Chapter 12

Time is a funny thing, how four days can feel like four months when you’re simultaneously dreading something and needing it to hurry and happen. 

Louis goes in to work and he goes home and he orders take-away and he sleeps, all normal things he does in a day, but now he does them all in a sort of fog, all his thoughts centered on Liam only. 

By the time the day arrives and the hateful weekend finally starts, Louis feels like a drug addict that’s tweaking for his next fix. He’s both exhausted yet jumpy and twitchy and he can’t keep his mind on anything before his focus derails and his brain starts to supply images of what might be happening to Liam. He finds that food makes him nauseous and he can’t sleep for more than an hour before he wakes up with terrible dreams dancing on the edge of his vision. 

But finally he receives the call from his father letting him know that he can come up to the house on Sunday afternoon; that all his guests will be gone by then and that he will give the key to Louis personally.

By the time he’s able to get in his car and drive, Louis is a mess of nerves, a bundle of thrumming energy that threatens to spill out of him with every breath. He imagines the worst scenarios for Liam, full of blood and tears and pain, then tells himself he’s being silly, and then imagines them all over again.

It’s all he can do not to tear the key from his father’s grasp when he sees him. 

His father is in the library, looking as calm and collected as he always does, the key clasped in his right hand.

“He was up most of last night and the one before,” his father says. “I’m sure he’s quite tired. You should let him sleep a bit.”

Louis reaches for the key. “I will. Just want to check in is all.”

His father holds the key out of reach, his face curious and calculating, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Louis, is there something you want to tell me?”

His desperation must be showing, he thinks. He wills his body to relax so that the shrug he gives will come off as nonchalant. “No, nothing.”

“Right.” His father still has that look on his face, still staring at him as if trying to decipher secrets. But he does hand over the key, which is all that Louis wants anyway. 

He thanks his father then hurries upstairs, feeling like he has no time to spare.

He opens the door with shaking hands and then he is inside. It’s all eerily reminiscent of his first time walking into this room, with Liam nude under the sheets, beautiful and vulnerable in sleep. 

Except that he knows so much more now than he did before. 

He settles down beside Liam and places a hand over his head, his fingers carding through his soft hair. Liam sleeps on his stomach, the sheets covering him up to his waist. A leg peeks out from underneath them, revealing a foot and a slender ankle. Louis looks him over as best he can without removing the protection of the sheet. He can see some scratches and scattered bruises but thankfully nothing that looks too terrible. Still, the thought that these strangers left imprints of themselves on Liam is enough to turn his stomach. 

After a few minutes, Liam begins to stir beneath him. His eyes blink open, foggy with sleep and confusion. “Louis?”

“Hey.”

Another blink and Liam comes to himself completely. He pulls the sheet tight around his body and turns on his side, scooting away from Louis. There is shock and mortification written across his features. “What are you doing here?”

“I . . . did no one tell you I was coming?” Louis asks.

“No.” Liam shakes his head vigorously.

Louis frowns. “Oh. Well, I found out about this weekend and I wanted to be here for you. Make sure you were alright.” His hand still hangs in mid-air where he had been touching Liam. He’s not sure whether to pull away or reach for him.

“I don’t want you here,” Liam says, pulling the sheet even further up his body. 

“Why?” he asks, completely perplexed. Not to mention a bit hurt. Liam has never treated him like this. He’s not sure what it all means, but he knows that he’ll have to tread carefully. “I mean, I’ll leave if you really want me to, but . . . why?”

Liam won’t meet his eyes, choosing to look down at the bed instead. “I don’t want you to see me like this, Louis. I’m disgusting.”

“Oh, darling,” Louis says, his heart breaking a little. He understands now, or he thinks he does. “You don’t have to hide from me. You’re the furthest thing from disgusting. You’re my beautiful Liam. And you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“Of course I do,” Liam cries. He looks up then, his soft, warm eyes reflecting the anguish he must hold inside. “Look at me; I’m covered in them. I was so knackered; I didn’t bother to shower. They’re all over me, Louis. I can smell them on me. I can still feel them.”

Louis feels a bit like crying. “Oh, Li . . .”

“I can handle it when I’m by myself, Louis, but not with you,” Liam says. His hands are twisted up in the sheets, his teeth biting and gnawing at his bottom lip. 

Louis wipes at a stray, sneaky tear. He takes a deep breath, determined to handle this better than he handled things last time. Liam needs him right now and he refuses to fail him again. “Alright, love, that’s enough,” he says softly. “Hush now. I’m here to help you. Let me help you.”

“Louis, I can’t,” Liam pleads, his voice wrecked.

He takes Liam’s chin in his fingers, keeping the grip gentle. “Let me help you. I’ll walk right out that door if you really want me to. But what I’d like more than anything is to do what I couldn’t do for you last time. Please.”

They stare at each other, and the few feet that separate them feels like a chasm, but Louis is determined. He matches the hurt and pleading in Liam’s eyes with his own care and concern until he can see the moment when Liam capitulates. 

Liam sighs and nods. “Yes. I’ll let you.”

It feels like a bit of a fist in the air moment, but Louis refrains. “Do you want to bathe now? We can get them off of you, darling. We’ll make it go away.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“How about a nice bath? Would you like that? I’ll run it for you, get it nice and hot and you can just relax.”

“Louis, you shouldn’t be doing those things.” Liam sounds scandalized, his eyes wide. “Not for a slave.”

“You know we’re not master and slave in this room. We’re Louis and Liam. And I want to do this for you. Please let me?”

Liam hangs his head, like he’s admitting defeat. “Ok.”

“Ok, good.” He gives Liam a quick kiss atop his head. “Now stay right there.”

He hurries to the bathroom. He’s been in here before, but simply for a quick wee and back out again. This time he takes a moment to appreciate how truly large and luxurious it is. He takes a quick look at the products that line the shower and bath, then a quick peek in the cupboards under the sink. 

He finds something lavender-scented salts for the bath. Perfect. And it’s half full which means that Liam uses it. He turns the water on and pours in a couple of capfuls, hoping that Liam will find it soothing. 

He waits there until the large tub is filled, wanting to give Liam some time to himself. Then he turns off the water and goes back into the main room. He sits down on the bed, pleased to see that Liam is sitting up now and that the sheet has been lowered, now pooled around his waist. He holds out his hand, waiting until Liam takes it.

“Come on, then,” he says, standing. “Up you come.”

Liam groans as he shifts and begins to move across the bed.

“Liam?”

“I’m a bit sore, is all. Everything hurts.”

Liam moves gingerly, like a much older man would. He sets his feet flat on the ground, wrapping the sheet tightly around himself, obviously meaning to take it with him.

“Come on, I’ll help you,” Louis says. He pulls Liam up, steadying him as he staggers. They barely take two shuffled steps forward before Louis stops. 

“God, you can barely walk.”

“No, I’m fine. Just a bit . . .”

“Sore,” Louis finishes for him.

“I’m fine,” Liam insists. 

“Course you are. That’s why I’m doing this.” He bends down and moves quickly, not giving Liam a chance to stop him. One arm goes behind Liam’s knees and the other behind his back and he stands, holding Liam in his arms, bridal-style. 

“Louis!” Liam squawks.

“Hush.”

Liam doesn’t protest after that. Instead he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and holds on, tucking his head in under Louis’ chin. Liam isn’t as heavy as he’d expected and they make their way easily to the bathroom.

He sets Liam down and takes the sheet from him, turning his head to the side to give him privacy. When he’s set the sheet away and turned back, Liam is already lowering himself into the tub. When he’s fully submerged, he leans back into the water with a sigh. 

“How is it? Too warm?” Louis asks. 

“No, it’s just right. Thank you, Louis.”

“My pleasure. Now, let’s get you sorted out. Shall we start with the hair first?”

“You’re going to help me?”

“I’m going to do it for you,” Louis answers, already grabbing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner and moving behind Liam.

“I can do it, Louis. I’m not an invalid.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about you deserving to be taken care of.”

“But . . .”

“No buts. Unless you feel uncomfortable or don’t like what I’m doing, then you can but me all you want. But otherwise, try to relax. This might even feel good, you know.”

“Fine,” Liam says, still sounding a bit upset by it all. But he doesn’t protest when Louis tentatively places his fingers in his hair.

Louis takes his time, making sure the caress of his fingers against Liam’s scalp is firm but gentle as he works the shampoo to a lather. He smiles when he sees Liam’s body relax, hearing his sigh turn into a quiet groan. 

“Feels alright?” he asks, already knowing that it does.

“Yes.” It’s no more than a whisper, a hushed exhale of a word. 

Louis whispers in turn. “Good.”

He uses the shower attachment to rinse Liam’s hair after he’s done, then he does the same thing with the conditioner, taking his time, making sure it feels good for Liam, making sure to keep his touch caring and not sexual.

When he’s all done with Liam’s hair, he crouches at the side of the tub. He holds up a bath sponge and the bottle of bath gel.

“Can I?”

Liam merely nods, his gaze sleepy and trusting. 

Louis takes Liam’s hand in his own, holding his arm up and outstretched. Then with infinite care, he slides the sponge against up the length of his arm and down across the other side. He moves in soft, gentle strokes, brushing the sponge against Liam’s palm then across his knuckles and fingers. 

He washes Liam like this; slow, deliberate and gentle. He washes Liam’s legs and back and chest, letting time slow, the shadows of seconds lengthening. He had told Liam that he would wash away the traces of what those men did to him and that is what he intends on doing. To Louis, every swipe of the sponge is a taint disappearing, a vile moment denied. He hopes it is for Liam as well. 

He lets Liam clean the most private parts of himself, turning away as he does then taking the sponge back when he’s finished. 

Afterward, he hands Liam a towel and averts his gaze as Liam dries himself off. They come back to the bed after Liam changes into sweat pants and loose t-shirt.

“How do you feel? Better?” he asks when they’re back on the bed. He had had Liam sit while he changed the sheets to fresh ones, not wanting anything to undo what he had just done.

“I feel clean,” Liam says, snuggling into the bed. “Clean is good.”

Louis stands, smiling down at him. His smile grows when Liam extends a hand up to him. “Why are you so far away?” he asks. 

“I thought you might not want me there. After . . . you know. I thought you might need space?”

“Don’t be daft. Get in here, please?”

Louis takes Liam’s hand and allows himself to be pulled down, tumbling in beside him.

It isn’t until a few hours later, after Liam has woken from a nap and they’re snuggled together and watching Harry kiss Sally on the telly that it hits Louis. He tightens his hold on Liam as the realization that he can’t do this anymore sinks in deep; down into his very pores. For a moment, a brief, terrible moment, he considers just running away. This is too simply too hard, watching someone you care about get hurt like this and not being able to help them. 

But then the man he wants to be overtakes the man that he wants to leave behind. He looks down into Liam’s eyes, filled with curiosity about why Louis’ hold is suddenly so tight. 

“Louis? You ok?”

He gives Liam a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, love, I’m fine. You?”

“Better now you’re here. Sorry I was such a wanker before.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I understand. Coming in unannounced like that . . . I’d probably be a bit of a wanker too. Although,” he adds, “you really weren’t, you know.”

Liam smiles up at him, his face beatific. “No one’s every cared for me like that before. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you walk through that door.” His smile turns cheeky, letting Louis know that Liam’s starting to bounce back. “And here I was expecting you to be a proper entitled shit.”

“Like my brother?”

“Ugh.” Liam wrinkles his nose. “Don’t spoil it.”

Louis laughs, tucking Liam’s head under his chin. It’s at this innocuous moment that he has his other big realization of the night. He loves Liam. Or . . . he thinks he does. He’s never experienced love before, so he’s not completely sure. But he does know that what he has with him, this lovely boy in his arms, is more than just affection. He wants to be with him all the time, keep him safe and make him happy. He feels warm inside when they’re together and he kind of wants to do that weird little Tom Cruise couch dance when he thinks about him when they’re apart.

If it’s not love, he decides, it’s bloody damn close.

He sees that Liam’s waiting for him to comment, so he squeezes him tight, mindful of how sore he is, and says, “But I am a proper entitled shit, Liam. You just like me cause I’m better-looking.”

Liam shakes his head and laughs. “Too right.”

And then they’re both giggling because Louis is tickling Liam, and maybe he’s not being completely gentle because he is an entitled shit, but Liam is laughing and that’s what’s important, that’s what’s always important. And after a moment, Liam starts tickling him back, which is new development, a really lovely new development. Except that Liam is a little too good at it, and then they’re both laughing too hard, breathless and in tears until they mutually give in.

It isn’t until the next day during a late breakfast sat by the window, that Louis decides it might be time to change the entire course of their relationship. 

He’d been thinking about this all night. While Liam had slept, he’d stayed awake, his mind churning out possibility after possibility, scenario after scenario.

And now it comes to this. The first step in what he knows is really far from being a foolproof plan. If anything, it’s really about praying that things work out. 

Louis sets his plate to the side when they’re done, watching as Liam does the same. Then he takes Liam’s hand in his own and says, rather more abruptly than he meant to, “I can’t keep watching this happen to you, Liam.”

Liam freezes, his eyes widening. “Watch what?”

“What happened to you this weekend. What happens to you when you’re with my brother. And my father too, I guess. Let’s not even talk about my mother.”

Liam pulls his hand away, his gaze darkening. “No offense, Lou, but you’re not there to witness anything. I get to live through that all by myself.”

He wants to slap himself for how wrong he’s getting it already, but he takes a breath and soldiers on. “I know. And I shouldn’t make this about me. It’s about both of us. I can’t watch you suffer the aftermath of their attentions, just like I can’t watch you stay trapped in here like a bird in a cage. I can’t watch that because I care for you. And you shouldn’t have to live through it. Not anymore.”

“What are you going on about, Louis? You know I can’t leave here. You know I have no say in what happens to me.”

Liam’s anger seems to be receding which Louis takes as a good sign. He reaches for Liam’s hand again, holding it between them. 

“What I’m about to propose . . . I want you to have a say in this. I want this to be your choice.” 

“You’re scaring me, Lou.”

“Sorry. It’s not . . . it’s not scary. I just . . . I told you, I’m rubbish at these sorts of things.” He takes another breath and starts over. “If I’m able to manage it . . . would you want to come be with me?”

“Where?” Liam asks, drawing out the word.

“With me. In London. You’d still be a slave, mine, technically,” Louis says, talking faster now. “You’d have to wear a collar and all, of course. But I wouldn’t treat you that way. And I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you, not ever. Not even me, unless you wanted. You’d be free from here, with me, if you want. Which, isn’t really freedom, I suppose, but it’s better than this, innit? I mean, it’s got to be. I think. If you want.” He makes himself stop talking by slamming his mouth shut, fully aware that he's devolved into full on babbling.

“Louis . . .”

“Only if you want,” Louis adds quickly.

The smile that spreads across Liam’s face is pure sunshine and joy. He leaps up excitedly, bringing Louis into a tight bear hug, nearly tackling him to the ground in the process. “Of course I want! I want to be yours. Just yours. I’d follow you wherever you asked.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, giddy with relief. He had thought Liam would say yes but had tried to prepare for the possibility that he might not. He wonders idly if this is what marriage proposals feel like.

Liam pulls back with a laugh that also sounds suspiciously like a sob. “Yeah. God, like you’d even have to ask! Though it is brilliant that you did.” He sobers as his smile grows soft and intimate. “Thank you for that. Thank you for giving me a choice.”

“Thank you for saying yes. I was sweating it there for a minute.”

“You liar,” he says, slapping at Louis’ arm. “How could I say no to a man who runs me baths?”

“One bath, Liam. One. That better hold you over for at least a year.” Louis’ only messing about and Liam knows it, acknowledging it by a quick grin.

But then Liam grows serious again. “How are you going to do it? You said if you’d be able to manage it?”

“I still have to ask my dad. Not really sure how to propose it yet, but I am pretty good at getting what I want from the old man.”

“You haven’t even asked? And you don’t know what you’re going to say?”

“Why do you suddenly look so sad?”

Liam sighs, shaking his head. “Your dad, Lou. He’s not going to just let me go. He paid a lot of money for me and he’s nowhere near done with me.”

“You don’t know that,” he says. “You don’t know what he’ll say.”

“I know him better than you do, Louis. You only know him as your dad. I know what he’s like in the dark.”

“Stop that,” Louis says, though not unkindly. Liam’s words hold grim truths that he can’t bear to think about just now. “You’ve got me failing before I’ve even started.”

“I just don’t like to have false hope, that’s all. I think it would kill me, Louis.”

“Alright. Then expect the worst, expect me to fail. And when I don’t you will be so bloody happy you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

Liam pulls away from Louis completely before wrapping his arms around his middle. “God, I would give anything,” he says as his gaze slowly drifts to the window and what lies outside.

“You don’t have to. You just have to have a little faith in me.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A week later finds Louis at his parents’ home in London. After the typical awkward family dinner, he and his father retreat to the study. 

“You said on the phone there was something you wanted to speak to me about, Louis?”

They each hold a snifter of brandy, Louis giving his a quick swirl before taking a long sip of the liquid courage. He hopes that he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels; he’s got too much on the line to fuck it up because his father senses weakness.

“It’s about Liam, dad.”

“Really? Well, I suppose I could act surprised but I don’t think I’ll bother.”

“Huh? How did you know? What do you know?”

“Louis, it’s very obvious that the boy has captured your attention. You see him more than your brother does. More than I and your mother do.”

“Oh.”

“So, what about Liam?”

Louis had already decided that a direct approach would work best with his father. The man respected boldness and he respected negotiation. Louis was prepared to do both. 

“I want him.”

“You already have him,” his father says.

“No. I want him. I want him to belong completely to me. I want to take him back to London with me.”

His father sits back, face inscrutable. “I see. May I ask why?”

“Because I care for him. I want him to be with me all the time. And, to be honest, I want to get him away from Roger. And from being used as entertainment. I want him to step out in the sun, for godsakes, like a twenty-year old deserves to.

“Liam cost me a great deal of money, Louis. And I am very, very fond of him. You’re suggesting I give him up . . . for what?”

Louis takes a long drink, using the moment to settle his thoughts. 

_Here goes nothing ___

He looks back up, meeting his father’s gaze straight on. “I’ll give back my trust fund. All of it.”

“And how, Louis, do you expect to live?”

“I have a job now. A career. I have my own money.”

“I know. With a record company.”

“That’s right and . . . wait . . . how do you know that?”

“Come now, Louis. You think word wouldn’t get back to me?”

Louis decides to let it go for now. He’s got to focus on the big picture. “At any rate, I’d be willing to give it up. Use it to buy yourself someone else. You’ve had Liam long enough.”

“And if I say that it’s not enough?”

Louis nods. He’d been expecting this. He’s more than ready with his answer. “I’ll give it all up then. My inheritance. Write me out of the will. Write me out of your life. I don’t care as long as I have Liam.”

“Do you fancy yourself the hero here? That he’ll love you if you save him?”

“No. I think we all know I’m not a hero. I just want to do the right thing. I’m trying to save him because I love him.”

“You love him?” his father asks. He raises an eyebrow although his voice manages to stay monotone.

He hadn’t told anyone what he feels for Liam yet, not even Liam himself. His father is the first to know. “Yes, I do, dad,” he says firmly, reveling in how right it feels.

The room falls into silence while Louis waits for his father’s answer. He’s not sure what else he can offer other than what he already has, but right now he’s willing to do anything his father asks of him.

“Louis, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Louis’ jaw drops open, his nerveless fingers barely holding on to the snifter in his hand. “What?”

“I’m very pleased.”

“You’ve been . . . you’ve been waiting for me to ask for Liam?” he stutters out.

His father smiles patiently. “Not that specifically. Although I had a feeling you were starting to fall for the boy. No, I’ve been waiting for the day when you finally cared about something, when something mattered to you.”

“Oh,” Louis says, still feeling like he’s two steps behind in this entire conversation.

“You think I wanted an exact clone of myself. But that’s not it, Louis. This is the man I wanted you to be; passionate about something other than yourself and willing to fight for something. Willing to finally take some responsibility.”

Louis wishes that he had words, he really does. But right now all he can seem to do is stare and wonder when this man took over his father’s body. Could he really have gotten it so wrong? Could his hatred for what his father did to his mother have blinded him so much?

“I am however, hesitant to grant your request,” his father continues. “I am very fond of Liam. It would be a great loss. Your mother, your brother, would be very sad to see him go, as would I. And there’s also the fact that you may grow bored, as you so often do, Louis.”

Ah, now there’s the man that Louis knows. His father telling him how pleased he is with him is a bit too unfamiliar and unsettling. But this . . . this he can handle. 

“I won’t grow bored of Liam. This isn’t a temporary thing. I know . . . I know that I’ve spent my entire life showing you that nothing matters to me, but this does. _He_ does. He is not temporary.”

Louis’ father considers this for several moments before setting down the brandy snifter. He clasps his hands together and says, “I will give you six months with him. That seems a fair amount of time. “

“Are you actually saying yes?” Louis asks, shocked. He’d been expecting a resounding no. Which meant that he’d have to resort to Plan B, which amounted to kidnapping Liam, taking him out of the country and adopting aliases.

“I’m saying that I will give him to you for six months. And if you still want him at the end of that time, then we shall talk further. If not, I’ll take him back.”

“Dad . . .” Once more he’s at a loss.

“Fair terms?”

“More than, dad. Thank you.”

They both stand, measuring each other for a moment, father and son. Louis steps forward, for a second overcome by the urge to actually hug his father. He tempers that quickly enough; that’s for normal fathers and sons and it still doesn’t feel quite right. He shakes his father’s hand instead, keeping it firm and quick and never dropping eye contact.

He doesn’t allow himself to smile until he’s driving away. Then he grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles whiten and lets out a shout of pure joy and triumph. 

He’s done it. He’s actually done it. 

And now . . . now he gets to tell Liam.


	13. Chapter 13

Liam stands at the window and looks out at the sun-kissed expanse of grass below him. His lip is swollen and bruised from where his teeth have bitten into it, a nervous habit he picked up after being sold and one he’s never been able to get rid of. 

He knows that Louis is coming; that he’ll be here any second now. He’d gotten the call from Seth last night telling him about Louis’ arrival and had subsequently tossed and turned all night, sick with worry about Master Richard’s answer.

He places his fingers against the glass, feeling the slight warmth of the heated surface tickle at his skin before setting his forehead against it and sighing.

He wants this so badly. So badly that it’s become a physical ache, one he can feel down to the marrow of his bones.

He wants to be outside, he wants not to be a plaything anymore. And he wants to be with Louis. God, he really wants to be with Louis. He had meant it when he said that he would follow him anywhere. He’s not sure if it’s love or hero-worship that he feels, maybe a bit of both. But he knows that his heart flutters like mad in his chest when he sees Louis. And he knows that Louis makes him feel special. When he’s with Louis he feels like more than a key. He feels funny and interesting and important. Louis doesn’t care about how tight his arse is or what his lips can do. 

Louis cares about him. 

It’s almost mind-blowing. 

And he’s so close to it, to having all of it.

But he never will, he thinks sadly. Master Richard will say no. Of course he’ll say no, why would he do otherwise?

Liam knows that this is all he’ll ever have and he knows that he should be grateful. He is grateful. He is and he will continue to be for as long as Louis wants him. 

It’s only that . . . god, he wishes that he didn’t want it so badly.

The turn of the key against the quiet of the room startles him from his thoughts. He turns around to face the door, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He’ll burst into tears if he looks at Louis when he’s told no. He can already feel the prickling sting of them. 

He begins to shake his head as the door opens. He can feel rather than hear when Louis steps inside. “I know,” he says. “I know he said no.”

“Don’t you at least want to look at me?” Louis asks. 

He continues shaking his head. “I know he said no.”

“Liam, open your eyes,” Louis says. 

He hears it as an order, albeit a gentle one. He does as he is told, lifting his head and slowly opening his eyes. He sees Louis stood across the room, holding a suitcase and wearing a huge grin.

“See?” Louis asks, waving the suitcase in the air. “He said yes.”

“What?” Liam asks, not comprehending what he’s hearing. That sounded like a yes. But it’s not supposed to be a yes.

“He said yes,” Louis repeats himself, stepping further into the room and setting down the suitcase. “That means you’re coming with me.”

“Don’t mess about, Louis. I couldn’t handle it.”

Louis’ smile softens, becoming warm and tender. “Would I ever, darling?”

He’s starting to believe it now, with his heart thundering in his chest and his own smile growing. “This is real?” he asks.

“Completely, absolutely.”

Liam stumbles a bit as he comes toward Louis. “I’m yours, then. All yours?”

“All mine. Just you and me now.”

Liam laughs before launching himself at Louis and wrapping his arms around him tightly. They nearly fall to the ground but Louis manages to keep them both upright. He hugs Liam to him and whispers against his ear. “Told you, didn’t I?”

That pulls a laugh from Liam that sounds too much like a sob. He cannot speak, so he nods instead. Speaking would result in tears, and he’s not really sure he could stop them once started. 

He can feel Louis’ strong hands running up and down his back, anchoring him against the tide of emotion that’s threatening to rise up against him. His own hands clutch at Louis’ back, nearly clawing at him in his quest to get closer, to stabilize.

Moments pass before he’s able to find the strength to pull away. He rubs at his eyes, not yet crying but damn close. “When do we go?” he asks shakily.

“Now, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Unless you’d rather stay? If you need some time to get used to it?” Louis asks.

It’s like having a noose dropped around his neck and tightened, the thought of staying here any longer than need be. “No! Now! Let’s go now.”

He’s already heading toward the door when he feels Louis’ hand on his arm restraining him. He looks down and falters. 

“But . . .”

“Pack first,” Louis says, indicating the suitcase at the door. “This offer doesn’t have an expire date if you move too slow.”

He can smile at that, a smile of profound relief. Louis won’t let him be hurt, this isn’t the kind of promise that can be taken away. 

He opens the suitcase on the bed and begins to pull items from his drawers, stuffing them in with little care. He doesn’t have much and what little he has, he doesn’t have much regard for right now. These are only things, nothing in comparison to what’s waiting for him beyond that door. 

“How did you do it?” he asks as he works at making everything fit. “How did you get your father to say yes?”

Louis is sat on the bed, watching him. “We can talk about that later. Just know that it went surprisingly well. Obviously.”

“There’s no catch, is there? In films, there’s always a catch.”

““I . . .” Louis hesitates, long enough to make Liam stop what he’s doing and look up. 

“Louis?”

“This isn’t a film, love. There’s no catch. Now go on, get back to packing.”

Liam does, though he’s got a sneaking suspicion that Louis isn’t giving him the entire story. He’s not about to argue or push however. He knows that Louis will tell him in due time. He can only hope that the truth won’t be a crushing blow.

He finishes up and closes the suitcase, zipping it up tight. “I’m ready,” he says.

“Then come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Liam takes hold of Louis’ outstretched hand, linking their fingers together. He lets himself be led to the threshold where he stops, faltering when he’s so close. 

“Liam?” Louis asks, looking back. 

“Are you sure this is ok?” he asks in a small voice. 

He feels Louis’ hand give his own a tight squeeze, a simple gesture of reassurance and comfort. And then he’s being pulled forward and across the threshold, over the thing that’s been forbidden to him for so long. 

His heart is beating so quickly that he’s half-afraid it will beat right out of his chest. He follows Louis through the darkened hallway then down two long flights of stairs. He recalls all of it as if recalling bits and pieces of a dream. After all, once upon a time he had walked through these same halls except in reverse, unwittingly drawing closer and closer to his prison. He hadn’t truly understood what he was being forced into, hadn’t truly understood then how his life would be forever changed. 

At last they stop at the large foyer, just at the double doors that lead to the outside and to freedom. His heart won’t stop thudding against his chest and his throat feels as dry as sandpaper. Despite Louis’ strong grip at his elbow, he feels as if he might faint at any moment. 

“Louis . . .” he begins. It is then that he notices that Seth is walking toward them, his smile both broad and kind. 

“Seth? What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you off, didn’t I?” he asks. “Couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye.”

“I . . .” he shakes his head, unsure of what he can possibly say to that. This man is one of the reasons that he has managed to stay sane through three long years. He and his other caretaker, Nigel, have been his constants, his only companions throughout such a desperate, terrible time. There aren’t enough thank you’s in the world, no possible way to ever express his gratitude. 

Before he can even begin to try and form words, Seth is stepping forward and gathering him into his big arms, giving him a gentle though tight embrace. He freezes for a moment, his shock rendering him immobile before he finally returns the embrace. It feels odd to be doing this. Simple touch was denied to him for so long.

Seth eventually pulls away, holding Liam at arm’s length, his hands still gripping his biceps loosely. His voice wavers when he speaks, his eyes suspiciously wet. “I don’t want to see you back here again, you here me? You go out there and you be good for Master Louis and you be happy. Alright, lad? Can you do that for me?”

Liam nods past the lump in his throat. He’s so very close to falling apart now. It takes everything he has to keep himself together when he says, “I will. I promise. Thank you, Seth. For everything.”

One more quick hug and then Seth is stepping back and away. Louis is beside him now, holding up a pair of sunglasses in his hands. 

“Thank you, Paddy,” Louis says. “I can indeed promise you that he will never come back here. And that he will be happy.”

“Paddy?” Liam asks, taking the sunglasses and looking at Seth quizzically. 

“Yeah, doesn’t he look like a Paddy? Suits him, don’t it?” He winks at Seth before breaking into one of his beautiful smiles, both tender and a bit wicked. It helps somehow, giving Liam the strength he so badly needs. 

“You might want to put those on, Liam,” he says. “It’s actually sunny on your first day out. Might hurt your eyes, yeah?”

Liam nods, putting on the glasses with a shaking hand. “Yeah.” 

Louis grazes his cheek with his fingertips, the softest of caresses. “You ready to get out of here?” he asks. 

“Yes please, Louis.”

Louis gives a nod and opens the door. 

Liam’s first thought as he takes his first tentative steps out is that it is bright, almost painfully so. He’s glad for the shades; even so, he still has to squint against the sun. 

His next thought is that it’s warm, not the warmth of artificial heating, but the delicate warmth of sunlight across his skin. 

The smells strike him next; the fresh, clean air with hints of a rose’s fragrance. It’s dizzying, all of it hitting his senses at once, overwhelming as much as it’s welcome. 

He hesitates, nearly stumbles, but Louis is there to steady and guide him. Louis takes the suitcase from him and sets it down on the ground, then takes hold of Liam’s hand and brings him forward slowly. 

It’s when they’re off the path and his feet touch the grass that it all becomes too much. He stops, resisting Louis’ steady pull. He can feel the tears coming and a pain so great that he doubles from the agony of it. He drops to his knees, clutching at the blades of grass in his hands as the sobs begin. 

It hurts. He didn’t think it would feel like this. He thought he would feel only joy at being free, not this terrible sense of despair and loss. And anger. He feels so very angry. So much wasted time. So much wasted. He rocks back and forth, hands ripping at the grass and tearing it apart as he wails out his grief.

He can sense rather than hear or see when Louis drops down next to him. Dimly he can hear Seth calling his name.

“It’s alright, Seth. He’s alright,” Louis says, his voice somehow rising above the din in Liam’s mind. He can feel Louis’ lips against his ear, can feel his arms surrounding him, blanketing him. Their bodies rock together now, more slowly as Louis takes control. 

“You’re alright aren’t you, darling? You’ll be just fine. You’re going to be just fine.”

Liam doesn’t believe him at first. How can he possibly be fine when he’s literally shaking apart right here? Does he even belong in this world anymore? So much wasted . . . so much lost . . . But Louis doesn’t stop, just continues to rock him, slowly, gently until the moment they can both stop. 

Liam doesn’t know how long he sits there, kneeling in the grass, the pain bleeding out of him through his hands and into the ground below. A long time, he thinks. Too long. But Louis doesn’t seem to mind. He is patient and steady throughout it all.

And his litany never stops, not once. “That’s it, love. That’s it. You’re alright now.” The words aren’t as important as the tone; supportive and strong and loving. He begins to believe that he’ll be ok because Louis believes it and Louis tells him so.

After a while he feels Louis’ arms withdraw from the embrace. He leans toward it, chasing his touch when he feels Louis hands at his elbow and around his waist. He lets himself be hauled up so they are both standing. He keeps his head bowed as he curls in on himself, leaning on Louis as they shuffle forward. The tears still come, though they are slowing now. 

They stop at the car while Louis opens the passenger door for him. 

“Go on, get in,” he says, helping Liam sink down into the seat and buckling him in.

Liam hears the boot open and close and he presumes that that is where his suitcase is. He wishes he could stop crying, that he could enjoy this day instead of spoiling it like a blubbering child.

He only looks up when Louis sits down in the driver’s seat and closes the door. Louis takes the sunglasses off and looks into his eyes, brushing away a tear that attempts to snake its way down his face. 

“I want you to do something for me. I want you to turn around and look at the house.” 

Liam does it, obeying almost instantly. He knows that it’s a request but it’s also on the verge of an order and it surprises him just how much he needs that familiarity right now. 

“Good,” Louis says. “Now keep looking at it. Don’t take your eyes off of it, not until it’s gone from sight.”

“Louis?” he asks, unsure.

“Do as I say, darling. Trust me.”

“Always,” Liam manages to whisper. 

Louis starts the car and slowly drives it forward. “Keep looking,” he says. “And know that this is the last time you will ever have to look at it again.”

Liam continues to stare, watching the house grow smaller and smaller by increments. He feels Louis’ hand on his thigh, a touch of reassurance and strength, and still he does not turn. 

He can feel it working, like a spell conjured by a magician. His heart feels lighter with every passing second as the house grows smaller and smaller, the pain lessening until it’s there’s nothing left but the echo of it. 

By the time the house is gone and there is only horizon in his sights, he feels he can breathe again and his tears have vanished. He faces forward and relaxes in the seat, feeling completely wrung out and exhausted. 

“Better?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Louis admits. He looks a little shaken, not his usual confident self. “Was only hoping it would work.” 

“I don’t know why I reacted that way. I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“Uh uh. Don’t event think about apologizing to me. You’ve been a prisoner inside that wretched, bloody room for three years now. I think that was probably normal.”

“Still, I wanted to enjoy this day, not bawl like a child,” he says. He’s starting to grow angry with himself, frustrated with his inability to deal properly with his freedom. Even now he can feel himself growing restless and agitated, the small, enclosed space of the car feeling more suffocating than anything.

Louis leans in, smiling up at him. “Day isn’t over yet, is it?”

Liam laughs a little, enjoying the way it seems to break something open inside him, loosening what felt so tight and constricting. “No, I reckon not.”

“Let’s open the windows and get some sun, eh?”

Liam nods eagerly, leaning his head back and smiling as the wind begins to whip through his hair. After a few minutes, he takes off the sunglasses, holding them loosely in his hand. It’s too bright for his eyes, but it feels good all the same. He can almost pretend he's outside like this. 

They drive for about half an hour before stopping by the side of the road. Liam all but throws himself out of the car, happy to be out. Louis pulls out a large, thick blanket from the boot, along with a football and a cooler. 

“What’s all this, then?” Liam asks they walk further and further from the road and onto the grassy countryside. 

“Picnic?” Louis asks. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in the countryside?”

They lay the blanket on the ground and settle down on it, pulling sandwiches and bags of crisps from the cooler along with bottles of water. They eat and eat drink slowly, as if they have all the time in the world to do so. When they have their fill they lay back, hands clasped together as they stare up at the blue expanse above them. They play stupid games like naming what the clouds look like. Liam giggles and turns his face into Louis' shoulder when Louis invariably comes up with penis. 

Afterwards, Louis grabs the football and they kick it around for a bit. Liam is rusty and Louis is surprisingly good, but after awhile some of his old skills come back. They play and run until they’re out of breath and their muscles begin to protest and they’re forced back to the blanket once more. 

“Better?” Louis asks. 

Liam curls up against his side, his head on Louis’ chest. In front of him he can see what looks like forever. He can smell green grass and wild honeysuckle and taste the freshness of the air against his tongue. His skin tingles from the warmth of the sun, prickling at the heat it gives. He has never felt anything better. 

He almost wishes it would cloud over and rain so he could feel that as well. 

He sighs and tightens his hold on Louis. “It’s the best day of my entire life,” he says in complete and utter honesty. This is the most content he’s been in his entire life. He feels like he could die right now and that he’d die happy.

Louis stirs against him, “We’ll be doing this again. Loads and loads. But for now . . . let’s go home, yeah?”

_Home_

He’s never had one, not really. He’s seen glimpses of it in his films, the ones that Louis likes to make fun of but Liam thinks he secretly loves. He’s seen what home is supposed to look like and what it’s supposed to feel like. 

It’s supposed to feel warm, like how the feels sun against his skin, only the warmth comes from the inside. 

Exactly how he feels right now. 

“Liam?” Louis asks, sounding worried at his silence. 

Liam takes a deep breath and smiles. He nods, bumping his nose up against Louis’ chin. 

“Yeah, Louis. Let’s go home.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long, guys! My life has gotten a bit crazy. New boyfriend and moving into my new home have taken up all my time. Pesky real life. *shakes fist*  
> I did promise that I would see this story through to the end, and while this might feel a little rushed, at least it's an ending. Really, I could have written about them forever but that would have been no good, not with this new life. So anyway, enough blathering . . . story!

It isn’t always easy but then again, Louis hadn’t thought it would be. 

That first day, finally stepping into Louis’ flat after the drive from the house, Liam’s first reaction had been to have a panic attack. It was the enclosed space that had done it, of course. Instead of feeling like he was walking into his new home, he had felt like he was walking into another prison, and the feeling of being trapped had suffocated him so much that he lost the ability to breathe. 

Louis still remembers how he had had to pull Liam across the flat and out onto the balcony; remembers the fear in Liam’s eyes as he had struggled to take in a breath and the tremors that wracked his body when he held him close. 

It still happens, though not as often. Even after a year, Liam hates being inside any room for too long. He can recognize when the panic attack is imminent though and he can usually make his way outside before it can take hold. 

They sleep together now, both literally and figuratively. After only two days in the flat, and with his own room to boot, Liam had come to Louis and begged to be allowed to sleep in Louis’ bed; even if only for a while. 

Louis had agreed instantly, happy to have Liam close. One night turned into two and two into three and so forth. Liam shares Louis’ bed to this day and neither of them would have it any other way. 

It took longer for the two to become intimate. Louis had been patient and Liam had been determined though timid. Human contact was something denied to him for so long that he craved it like an addict searching for his next fix. Sex was another matter. Even the thought of it was repulsive to him. It was five months into their relationship before they experienced any kind of intimacy. Louis had gone down on Liam, bringing him to orgasm without asking for anything in return. Liam had broken down into tears immediately afterward, Louis weeping along with him only moments after. 

After six months together, Louis’ father came to visit them and reluctantly upheld his end of the bargain that he had made with his son. He gave Liam to Louis officially, signing and filing the proper paperwork with the courts. Nearly one month to the day after Liam officially became Louis’, they at last made love, Louis coming deep inside of Liam with a broken cry. He then told Liam that he loved him as he stroked his hair and brought him into the circle of his arms. Liam had tearfully told Louis that he loved him too. 

Soon after that, Louis began to hate his father a little less each day. 

Seven months after Liam came to live with Louis, the record company sent Louis out to California to work with a new American artist. The company rented a beach house for them in Malibu and paid most of their expenses. The job took almost two full months. Louis and Liam stay for four. The sun and the wide-open spaces do wonders for Liam; for them both. They learn to surf and they sleep too long and eat too much and laugh and play often. Liam gains a little weight and doesn’t exercise nearly as much. He worries about his body and how he won’t be good enough for Louis anymore. Louis shushes all those thoughts with a kiss. 

Near the end of their time they find themselves torn between being homesick and being in love with California and never wanting to go back.

It’s here, in California, that they sit out on the porch at night, looking out at the waves as they crash on the beach. The moon is high and bright and it bathes everything in its brilliance. Louis glances over at Liam before turning his gaze back out to the ocean. He’s fairly sure he won’t be able to say what he needs to say if he has to face him.

He keeps their hands intertwined however, enjoying the weight and warmth of Liam’s touch.

“So . . .” he begins.

“So?” Liam asks. There’s a smile in his voice as if he thinks what Louis is about to say will be playful. 

Louis takes a deep breath, keeping his gazed fixed outward. 

“I burned the house down before I left.”

He says it so quickly that he’s not even sure that he spoke true words. He’s fairly sure that the spluttering sounds he hears are Liam choking on his beer.

“Excuse me?” Liam says, after a valiant effort at catching his breath.

Louis takes another deep breath. This time the words come a bit more slowly. “Right before we left, that weekend that I was gone? I drove to the place where you were kept and I burned it down.”

Liam bites at his lip, the habit coming back to him like an old friend. “Louis, I don’t get the joke.”

“Not a joke, darling.

Liam looks, really looks, at Louis then, at the intensity of his gaze as he stares out into the water, at the frown marring his features, and he knows. He simply knows. 

“Why?” he whispers. 

It’s only now that Louis turns his head and looks at Liam directly. His eyes are sincere and pained. “I had to. He would have done it again, you know. There was somebody before you; there would have been somebody after. And I couldn’t have that. I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t live with it.”

“But it was your home, Louis.” Liam is still whispering, as if this is a sacred thing.

“Not really. We summered there. Holidays, get-togethers. My home was in London. It doesn’t mean as much to me as you think it does.”

“I still can’t believe you’d do that. What if you’d been caught? And what about Seth?”

Liam’s starting to sound a bit hysterical, so Louis leans forward and trails his fingers across Liam’s cheek. “I planned it very well. Without you there, Seth wasn’t needed there all the time. He wasn’t there. And I know that house backwards and forwards. Well . . . except apparently for that hidden room.” He tries a smile but Liam is having none of it. He clears his throat and grows serious once more. “I was very careful, Liam.” 

Liam shakes his head, letting out a deep, shuddering exhale as he tries to take it all in. Louis waits, anxious but not truly afraid. He wouldn’t have told Liam now if he didn’t feel that it was the right time. 

“Louis, what you did . . .” he stops as his words catch in his throat. He clears it and tries again. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you any more.”

It warms Louis’ heart to hear this. There are times when he wonders if Liam loves him for him or if he loves him because he sees Louis as a savior. He knows just how much he loves Liam – their relationship stopped even resembling a master/slave one a long time ago. He just wishes he knew how Liam truly felt in return. 

But at times like this it doesn’t matter. Not when Liam looks at him with his eyes shining like that . . . 

He hadn’t done what he did to get Liam to like him more. He hadn’t done it to appear as more of a hero in Liam’s eyes. He’d done it because he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t. 

But this . . . the way Liam is looking at him, the way he’s setting down the beer bottle and leading them both up from their chairs with a fond smile and tears in his eyes . . . this is certainly a nice perk. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Liam says. 

It’s not very often that Liam takes the lead in bed, but when he does it’s always like this; soft and inviting and slow. 

Louis loves soft and inviting and slow. 

He nods, taking in a deep breath of the warm California air before allowing Liam to lead him inside. 

“Yeah. Whatever you want, love. Yeah.”


End file.
